


the thing about moon bin

by softsocky



Series: monsoon [1]
Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, but i havent been able to put into words, idk what to tag, ive been thinking of this idea for some time now, slow burn i guess, wait, wowie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-28
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 23:13:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 54,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12851571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsocky/pseuds/softsocky
Summary: The thing about Moon Bin was that he just wasn’t worth his time.





	1. july

**JULY**

Underneath his raincoat, Dongmin was sweating – though, he wasn’t sure if it were from nerves, or from the humidity that sat thick and warm in the air. It was the first week of July, and the monsoon rains had arrived in their full force. His shoes had soaked through from the walk, and the denim of his jeans held in the moisture from the oncoming rain, and for not the first time that day, Dongmin wished things had turned out differently.

In two weeks’ time, the school semester would be finished, leaving overworked students with a month off before returning to their studies in early September. For Dongmin, however, his life in Seoul had only just begun. He had hoped – when his parents decided to make the move from their small town to Seoul – that they would have been lenient enough to allow him to start fresh next semester. But their thoughts hadn’t been so inclined. So, Dongmin trudged up the front steps of his new high school, head – which he once held so high – lowered to the ground.

He hadn’t bothered pulling the hood of his jacket down as he made his way through the halls, watching the feet of other students move around him. He didn’t have eidetic memory, but he had managed to retain the path to the office he took earlier that week when he met with the principal for his induction. The school was big – thousands of students – so he knew he would blend in to an extent, but even high schools this size noticed new faces, especially this close to the end of semester. 

He made it to the office, and slipped inside mostly unnoticed. The lady behind the desk had artfully styled hair and a kind smile, and ushered him further in the room.

“You must be Lee Dongmin, correct?” He nodded. “Great! I’ve printed off your timetable for you, for your classes,” she rifled through a stack of paperwork on her desk, before pulling out a manila folder. His name was printed in fine handwriting on the top, and she pushed it towards him. “In there, you’ll also find a map, and your locker location and combination.” He took it with a small nod of his head in thanks, and headed out the way he came.

The hallway seemed a little less crowded now, and Dongmin assumed it was because people were heading in the directions of their first classes. It was getting close to the bell ringing, and Dongmin wanted to get to class before then, so he wouldn’t barge in late and have unnecessary attention cast his way. His first class was chemistry, a subject he _appalled,_ but having come so late in the year, he took the classes that were available to him without much complaint. Tracing a line from the office to the designated classroom on his map, he managed to find it easily enough, and the ball rang overhead just as he was heading inside. He hovered near the front of the room, hesitating. Had this been the first day of a new semester, seating arrangements wouldn’t have mattered so much – but now, this far into the school year, he didn’t want to be faced with stealing someone’s assigned seat. He watched nervously as the students filled in, saw each one throw a curious glance in his direction, saw most do a double-take.

It was something he had been expecting. He had been told on numerous accounts that he was unfairly attractive, and sure; he knew he had a handsome face, but he hated the way it was spat at him like it was the only quality he possessed. He was good at lots of things – he was hard working and he liked to think he was caring enough to be described as such _before_ being described as pretty or handsome or gorgeous. Not that he wasn’t thankful for the compliments, it’s just some days, they begin to sound more like an insult.

Students had taken their seats, so that only a handful remained – no double-seats were fully empty, just pairs that needing filling, so Dongmin had to go about choosing a partner based entirely on how they looked, how they held themselves, which went against everything he had come to believe in. But life has a way of dictating you against your best wishes, so he chose the furthest to the back. The boy already sitting there had his head tilted back enough that his eyes were raised to the ceiling, and either he didn’t care, or was incredibly unobservant, but his position didn’t change when Dongmin pulled the chair out beside him and sat down shyly in it. He reached into his bag to retrieve an empty notebook and a pen, and when he turned back around, the boy was looking at him.

Dongmin couldn’t help but gasp.

The boy’s lips were somewhat thin, but curved upwards into what one could consider a permanent smile had it not been for the expression of his eyes, which held neither hate nor curiosity, but a look of pure dismay. It was like the boy beside him was seeing a human for the first time in his life, and couldn’t comprehend the fact that they, like he, he had a nose and two eyes and a mouth, all attached to a face and neck and body. Perhaps Dongmin shared the same expression, a completely unmasked gaze of shock and incredulity, because the elusive boy beside him turned away sharply.

It took a second longer for Dongmin’s brain to connect the dots, to see that the situation had changed, that the staring had to stop. He trained his eyes to the front of the room, where the teacher had at some point appeared, and spoke monotonously about wrap-up quizzes and tests which – Dongmin _hoped_ – he’d been excluded from, or, at least, given an extension on.

Dongmin was grateful the teacher didn’t make him stand and introduce himself, like he was sure many others would, or expect. Maybe he – Mr Jhon – could sense the acid bubbling in his stomach, or saw the way his hands were shaking on his knees under his desk, and decided to take pity. Whatever reason, Dongmin was forever thankful. Beside him, the boy didn’t seem to be interested in anything the teacher was saying. He either stared at the ceiling, or out the window, and Dongmin decided that neither view was particularly exciting, so he concluded that the boy hated chemistry, too, just like himself. That, or he loved it so much, that he no longer needed to listen to the content, knowing full well he knew it already. For a second, Dongmin greedily hoped it was the latter, so that maybe he could receive a few hints from his unsuspecting partner.

But that thought really hadn’t lasted long. It had somewhat formulated itself in Dongmin’s mind, but when Mr Jhon passed out revision questions – all of which left Dongmin dumbfounded – the dark-haired boy pretended he didn’t exist. Mr Jhon said that talking in the pairs would allow for a better understanding of what was being asked, and Dongmin couldn’t agree more – although, it was likely that was the desperate part of his mind crying out to him, begging for help.

The boy wrote in pen, not pencil, something that struck him as a little strange, but maybe it was the boy’s subtle confidence. Knowledge is power, after all. Dongmin couldn’t resist watching the way he wrote easily, head tilted the side, as though the content was boring and childish to him. He filled in the questions quickly, and Dongmin saw his eyes flicker over to his for a brief second. Dongmin shifted his eyes to his own sheet, saw the minute’s tick shyly towards the periods end, before he pushed the taunting sheet away from him.

They sat in silence for the rest of the period, Dongmin fighting every urge to turn and look at the boy, and instead, focused on the students around him. He nibbled on the end of his pen, drew mindlessly on the blank notebook page, picked at his nails. When the bell rang, he pushed himself out of his seat, not bothering to write his name on his empty sheet, or say goodbye to the cat-eyed boy with poor manners and no tongue.

His others classes had left the same bitter taste in his mouth. Although there had been no students quite like the one he’d encountered in chemistry – both in their looks or in their actions – he had been forced to stand and introduce himself as he’d feared. He hated the way his voice made him sound, wobbly and nervous and straight away posing him as weak and vulnerable and _shy._ A few students had said hello to him, probably wondering why he had started so late in the semester, or, better yet, why he’d come to Seoul. But, those students had quickly lost interest. Anything they had found interesting – whether it be his apparent good looks, or the way he held himself, or just being the new kid in general – quickly deteriorated into boredom, something that Dongmin hated to admit he loved.

In math, he sat down beside a boy who, at first, did nothing but throw a shy smile in his direction. He’d been hesitant to speak, it seemed, and Dongmin sat there for the first fifteen minutes of the class wondering if anyone in this school spoke, or maybe it was just that they didn’t want to speak to _him._ But then they were set a similar task as they were in Chemistry – a series of questions to answer amongst themselves. The boy had then introduced himself at MJ, a student so incredibly witty, that Dongmin cheeks were hurting by the end of the period. They’d received a few curious glances thrown their way, a few disappointing ones from the teacher himself, but most people left them alone. When the bell rang, they compared timetables – giddy with the fact that they shared many classes together.

“Have you been given a locker yet?” MJ asked, as they walked to their next classes. It was one of the two classes they didn’t have together: chemistry, and while Dongmin took art, MJ went to music.

Dongmin nodded, scurried around in his pocket for the pamphlet he’d received earlier. “Yeah, uh…locker 374?”

MJ stopped walking, and looked deep in thought for a moment, eyes a little glassy. Following his gaze, Dongmin spotted a short boy with deep burgundy hair, which looked wind-swept and incredibly soft to touch. He had thin-framed glasses perched on the edge of his nose, and his head was thrown back as he laughed at the something the boy he stood with said. The other was taller, though not by much. His hair looked grey in this light, but Dongmin could see touches of green in the silvery strands.

Dongmin glanced back from the two boys and back to his new friend, who had stopped looking so lost in his head, but now, looked lost in his heart.

Dongmin spoke gently, “MJ?” The boy in question quickly snapped out of his trance, glancing at the taller boy beside him.

“Yeah, sorry,” he spluttered, quickly looking back at the red-headed boy, who was now turning to leave. Dongmin panicked for a moment, unsure if maybe they’d seen them staring, but they just walked past them, as though they didn’t even exist.

MJ continued walking, still looking somewhat frazzled from the one-sided interaction. He turned around when he saw Dongmin not keeping up. “You alright?”

“MJ, who was that guy?”

MJ sighed, eyes distressed. “If we’re still friends by lunch, maybe I’ll tell you.” His words held no threat, though, because his eyes were smiling, and Dongmin knew his were smiling right back. Maybe this school wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

MJ quickly checked his watch, cursing under his breath. “Look, I’ve got to get to class. I’ll meet you at your locker afterwards, yeah?”

Dongmin nodded, and watched MJ’s body disappear into the swarm of students hurrying to class. Dongmin’s body was swallowed by the same crowd, but his mind was swallowed by thoughts of motionless tongues and red hair and thin lips.

 

Locker 374 was wedged right at the end of a row, beside a storeroom, and conveniently right near the lunchroom. Dongmin shoved in his books that were no longer needed for the day, before shutting the metal and locking it up with the combination the office clerk had given him. He leant his cheeks against the cool surface of the metal, sighing at the sensation of it against his flaming cheeks. His back was hurting, as was his neck, and he’d almost forgotten the physical discomfort that accompanied first-day stress and anxiety.

He shut his eyes for a just a split second, and then the next moment, the boy from chemistry was walking down the hallway. He paid no mind to Dongmin, rightly so, he made it very clear he wasn’t interested in talking to him, didn’t even want to know his name. He pondered what this boy’s name was, if it would short or long, if it would roll of his tongue as easy as an insult would. He watched the way his hips swung naturally with each step, the curve of his spine visible through his school shirt. The way his fingers clutched at his blazer, thrown over his shoulder, and through the thin white material, Dongmin could see smooth skin and bulging muscles, and his own mouth suddenly felt very dry. His eyes trailed lower, admiring the way he looked in a button-up and tie, before he pondered if his abdominal muscles would be as defined as his arms were, and if so, _how_ toned. He trailed his eyes up again, retreating from dangerous territory, and settled on his face. Dongmin felt somewhat at peace the moment he did so. The pain in his neck seemed to disappear, and he barely noticed the twinge in his lower back. The boy’s lips were parted just a sliver, but Dongmin was too far away from him too catch a glimpse of his tongue. His lips – curved upwards, but not accompanied by a smile – pressed together now, rolling together, and Dongmin wondered what they’d taste like – if they’d even _have_ a taste. His eyes were full of expression, though mostly they were searching, and for a split second Dongmin thought he saw them fall on him, but in the space between seconds, they were gone. He watched his entire body move as though it were in slow motion, as they time had no purpose, because this boy himself was the meaning behind it all.

A sigh left his lips, unintentional, and someone beside him scoffed. He started, smacking his head back into his locker. “Ow,” the same voice said.

He gripped the side of his head, turning to MJ leaning against the row of lockers, eyes looking at the boy he’d just been ogling. “Jesus, MJ. Don’t do that!”

He rubbed at his head again, then dropped his arm down beside him. He resisted the urge to look for the boy again, knowing he’d be almost at the lunch room now, and out of his sights. MJ chuckled, and then tutted. “Don’t even bother, Minnie.”

Dongmin paused, eyes settling on the shorter. “What do you mean?”

MJ motioned to the boy with his head. Dongmin flickered his eyes that way, catching the movement of the boy pushing the lunchroom door open and sliding through gracefully. Dongmin’s senses must have been on high alert, because his whole body flinched when the door slammed closed.

MJ started to walk, and Dongmin followed. “Don’t even both with him. Really, don’t bother. It is so not worth your time.” For such a small a person, MJ sure did walk quickly. Dongmin assumed it was because he had to spend his entire life keeping up with everyone else. Dongmin, it seemed, was now in the same position. He quickened his pace.

“Why?”

MJ snorted, “it seems I have a lot of explaining to do.”

 

The table where MJ sat was completely empty. Dongmin had thought with how bubbly and funny MJ was, there’d be more than just the two of them here, but alas, they sat alone. He didn’t say anything, but MJ was as brilliant as he was witty.

“No one else is coming, if you’re wondering.” He twisted off the lid of his water bottle. “It’s just us two.”

Dongmin nodded, biting the end of a carrot stick. “So,” he began. “The guy in the hallway?”

MJ sighed, sitting down his bottle. His eyes flickered minutely to the left of the room. Dongmin’s eyes quickly followed, settling on a table not far from theirs, though feeling a world away. There were only three people sitting there, but it felt fuller than theirs did. The boy he’d seen earlier, the one that had left MJ speechless, was sitting there, beside the same boy he’d been talking to in the hallway. Dongmin’s eyes shifted the tiniest bit to the right, to the opposite side of the table, where the all-too familiar beautiful boy sat, with his dark hair, and darker eyes, tongueless mouth. But the tongue seemed to be working perfectly fine now, what with the way he spoke to the two boys across from him. Dongmin couldn’t help but frown. What had he done to make the mysterious boy not want to speak to him?

He turned back to MJ, eyes expectant. MJ was looking down at his lunch in front of him. “His name is Jin Jin, Jinny, I guess.” He shrugged one shoulder. “We uh, we used to be best friends, actually.”

Dongmin felt his brows furrow. “Used to be?”

MJ took a swig of his water. “Things change.”

Dongmin nodded, _true that._ “What happened? Just time?”

MJ snorted, shaking his head. “No, not quite. I came out.” He shrugged again, noticing Dongmin’s appalled expression. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s _not_ okay. But it was good that it happened. I realised that the person I called my best friend was also hugely homophobic. Glad I got out of there when I did.”

His voice sounded small, and even in the short amount of time Dongmin had known the boy, he knew he was not glad. “You were more than best friends, weren’t you?”

MJ was not an open book by any means, Dongmin had just spent a long time reading people; so much so, he was almost an expert at advance literary books, such as the boy across from him. MJ just looked at him, eyes empty, as though he didn’t need to reply. And he didn’t, Dongmin already suspected as much.

“No,” he stopped. “Well, yes. For me, at least, we were. I was…in love with him.” His eyes fell, longing, on the burgundy-headed boy, cackling at something the boy beside him had said, Dongmin’s chemistry partner joining in. Dongmin wanted to take the time to appreciate how beautiful he looked with his eyes closed as he laughed like that, hands clasped together in front of him, throat exposed for the world to admire.

“And now?”

MJ met Dongmin’s eyes, and the pain he saw there, accompanied by regret and some kind of grief he couldn’t quite place, left him feeling weak. “I don’t think you ever fall out of love with someone. I think you just learn to live without them.”

 

On their walk to their next class together, MJ told him about the elusive and silent _Moon Bin._ He was reserved, more so than he, and no doubt would become a successful scientist working in a top of the market laboratory when he graduated university, judging by his school results thus far. He didn’t talk to many people at all, aside from his two friends, and those who tried, were often left in the cold. MJ looked at Dongmin with sympathy as he told him this part, as though he knew that this had happened to him.

“Jinny, he uh, never actually used to be friends with Bin.” They rounded the corner, their classroom in sight. “It used to just be me and him, together forever, taking on the world,” he laughed without humour and Dongmin suspected it was so he wouldn’t cry. “When I came out, he didn’t talk to me for a few days. At the time, I thought it was because maybe he liked me back, and just wasn’t ready to come out himself. We’d kissed before, once or twice, I thought it meant something, but obviously…it didn’t. After a few days, he came up to me, in front of Bin and Rocky – Park Minhyuk, the other boy with them – called me some repulsive words, and never spoke to me again.” He let Dongmin enter the classroom first, pointed to the desk at the far back.

“I didn’t even know he _knew_ Bin and Rocky, let alone talked to them enough to become attached to them like some kind of leech.” They sat down together, pulled out their notebooks, waited for the bell to ring. “It was always us two, y’know? So, it was weird for me, to see them together all the time. Like some kind of secret friendship they’d had this whole time, and had never said anything to me about.”

Dongmin nodded, “he broke your heart.”

MJ smiled, somehow, through the anguish in his eyes. “He did, but I let him do it. A reminder to never give your heart away, no matter how fast it beats for them.” Dongmin had never felt heartbreak before, but in that moment, he was so sure he could feel what he felt. Dark eyes and vile words and Moon Bin’s lips flashed in his mind, creating this new image of the boy in his mind, like some kind of parasite, sucking the sense from him.

Their final two classes passed quickly, history followed by biology, and Dongmin couldn’t help but think today had been more eventful than many he’d had before. He was thankful he’d made a friend, even if he had unintentionally made three enemies because of it. As he walked the short distance from the school to his home that afternoon, the rain clearing the tiniest amount, but not enough to leave Dongmin feeling dry, he thought over MJ’s words. He thought about the charismatic boy, handing his heart over to the boy with red hair and the pretty eyes behind the round glasses, and tried his hardest not to imagine his laugher replaced with late-night sobbing and gut-wrenching screams. He ate dinner silently, passing off his parent’s questions, his brother tugging at him, begging him to play. He went to bed early, and slept poorly – dreams clouded by visions of the week ahead, and terrified that they would come true.

 

It was raining unbearably heavy when he woke up. By the time he’d showered, eaten, and dressed, it hadn’t lessened. He groaned, long and loud, until his mum came up behind him, and pushed him out the door, and towards her car. She was still wrapped up in her pyjamas, but willingly drove him the short distance to the school to avoid the rains. When they pulled up out front, she put the car in park. Mum’s were like that, Dongmin thought. They knew exactly when you had something to ask.

“DD?” Dongmin smiled at the nickname he’d had since he was small, since he could never say his own name. “What’s on your mind?”

He shrugged, humming. “My friend, MJ – I met him yesterday. He was just telling me things, y’know, about people.” She hummed, pushing him to continue. “I don’t know. I was just thinking about how people can surprise you, that’s all.” He unbuckled his seatbelt, not thinking about chemistry, about the boy he’d have to face for the next two weeks.

Before he opened the door to brave the short distance to the school steps, she grabbed his arm. “People can, and _will_ surprise you, DD. But never forget that surprises? They can happen more than once.”

 

He saw MJ leaning against his locker as he made his way there, and he threw a wave his way. MJ waved back, hair pulled back underneath a beanie. Dongmin stopped short. “Um, did you not notice the humidity outside, or?”

MJ shrugged. “Good morning to you too, Dongmin.” He opened his locker, shoved his jacket inside, got his chemistry books. “And yes, I did notice, but my hair does this horrible frizzing thing when wet, so I’ll avoid it at all costs.”

He looked down at the books in his hands. “Ah, chemistry with moon-boy.”

Dongmin sighed, “afraid so. Catch you next class?” MJ threw a thumb up in his direction, turning on his heel to his own class when the bell rang overhead. Dongmin slammed his head against the door of his locker, effectively shutting it. He let out a long groan, tasting the bitter taste on his tongue, the taste that reminded him of _Moon Bin,_ the boy with no manners, that he hadn’t even needed to taste to know that the flavour was sour and unpleasant. And yet, why did he crave _more_ of it? He had only just learnt the boy’s name, had never heard the sound of voice, and yet here he was, dreading the feeling of him beside him, detesting the way he’d have to suffer through fifty minutes of his arm occasionally brushing against him, making goose bumps rise up on his arms at the contact. No one should have this much power over someone else, someone they don’t even know – or, apparently like.

And that was the other thing. MJ was his friend – new friend, yes, but also, his only friend – and the interest for this Bin character he felt tickling the back of his throat went against that friendship. The boy MJ loved associated himself with this Bin boy, this _Moon boy,_ and that could only mean that the boy himself had similar values. Dongmin headed to class, wondering if MJ had ever tasted the same bitter taste he had now. He was so sure he had.

 

He stopped in the entryway. The table he’d sat at yesterday was completely empty. He looked at his watch. The first bell had rung, and last time, Bin had been here by now. Perhaps he was running late? Dongmin growled at himself as he sat down. _It shouldn’t matter_ , he thought to himself, anger dripping on his thoughts. _Why does it matter if he’s here or not? You’re not_ friends _._

He pulled out all of his gear, watched the teacher stroll lazily in. The final bell was yet to ring, but most students had arrived and settled. Dongmin took the time to watch late students run up into the school building from outside, covering their heads with their hands if they didn’t have an umbrella. As he was watching one student walk slowly up the steps – no umbrella, but paying no mind to the rain – as though he were enjoying the pelting of rain against his skin, something blocked his view. His eyes refocused, catching sight of a navy jacket with red piping, a school emblem on the right side.

Moon Bin took of his blazer, hung it from the back of his chair, all the while Dongmin continued to stare out the window. Though now, he couldn’t focus on anything else, aside from the smell radiating off the boy beside him, a musky smell, something caught between aftershave and cinnamon. And he could see, out the corner of his eye, the fluidity of his hands, as they fluttered around his back and desk, preparing for class.

He couldn’t resist. He had to look. His eyes shifted – slowly, as though not to scare the boy – to his side, a tad lower than the height of the window. They rested on his ears, pierced once in each lobe, and studded with simple black studs. His skin was as clear and smooth as it were yesterday, free of any facial hair, as bare as his own. He saw Bin’s eyes flicker over to his, despite his head not moving. Dongmin tried to hold his gaze, but Bin lost interest as quickly as he had gained it.

The class continued in the exact same fashion as it had yesterday. The only difference now was that Dongmin could place a name to the face, and could judge himself for still finding the boy irresistibly good-looking and _curious_ despite knowing what he knew about him and his association with Jin Jin.

But he couldn’t stop himself. He judged himself, but that didn’t mean he stopped. He continued to look, not caring if the boy thought him creepy. He’d watch him purse his lips when he pretended to be listening, though Dongmin could tell by the way he leant right back in his chair, and repetitively clicked his pen, that he wasn’t.

Dongmin’s hands felt itchy, like it was instinct to reach out to him. Dongmin usually had control over his body, but right now, it was fighting back against his senses. His hands left his lap, but he managed to slap them down onto the desk before he did anything silly with them, like brush away Bin’s hair from his hair, on run a fingertip up his shirt sleeve. Bin turned his head at the sound, frowning at him, before turning his full-attention back to Mr Jhon.

Lunch couldn’t come quick enough.

When it did, Dongmin waited for MJ by his locker. The boy’s hair was still wrapped up under a beanie, but his blazer had been removed, the sleeves of his button-up rolled up to his elbows. They sat at his usual table, ignoring the table not far from them, and sat in comfortable silence for most of the break. It wasn’t until Dongmin itched his curious itch and glanced in Bin’s direction, that he spoke.

“So,” he said around his juice. MJ glanced up. “Tell me about Rocky?”

MJ shrugged, “I don’t know a whole lot about him. He plays basketball, I know that much, though that being said, he doesn’t really associate himself with any of the players outside of the game. Obviously.”

“Girlfriend?”

MJ shook his head. “No. Well, not that I know of, at least. No one at this school, anyways.”

Dongmin hesitated. “What about Bin? Does he have a girlfriend?”

MJ sat down his chopsticks. “Minnie.”

Dongmin raised his hands, as though he were directing traffic. “I’m just curious!”

MJ picked his chopsticks up again, jabbed one in his direction. “Well don’t! He’s a _prick!”_

Dongmin resisted asking _why_ because he clearly knew why. The boy who broke his heart, bullied him for his sexuality, called him his _best friend_ – and that had to mean _something_.

“MJ,” he starts, a moment later. “I want to run something by you.”

MJ narrows his eyes at him, “I’m listening.”

 

So, Dongmin had lied, just a little bit, to MJ. About this whole thing, this _plan_ he’d miraculously conjured up. He’d told MJ it would be so he could get answers about everything with Jin Jin, when really, the other half of him – the selfish part – did it so he could find out more about _Bin._

“What if – now bear with me, don’t say no straight away. What if I try _befriend_ Bin? It could actually work. Sure, the guy doesn’t like many people, but if I gain his trust, maybe I can find out what the hell happened with Jin Jin. Get you some much needed answers, no matter how brutal.”

MJ shook his head, “no way.”

Dongmin bulged his eyes out at him, as if to ask, ‘ _why not?_ ’

MJ squeaked out, “because it won’t _work!_ ”

“How do you _know_?”

“I’ve known him longer than you have!”

“But _I_ haven’t!”

MJ went to reply, but didn’t. He let out a huge sigh, one he’d been holding in for a while, it seemed, judging by his red cheeks. “Fine. But, when this doesn’t work, I get to rub it in your face for the next twelve months. At _least.”_ He held out his hand for Dongmin to shake.

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

 

And so, it had begun. The plan of all plans. Dongmin would pool together all his kindness and patience, he’d take extra care in the morning to style his hair, maybe even apply a little tinted lip balm, a little spread of mascara. He’d make himself more desirable, the way he knew that had tricked people before. He aimed to pull out all the strings, to make him irresistible to this _Moon Bin_ MJ spoke so poorly of, that he, too, should think so poorly of. He couldn’t help the bitter taste in his mouth, no matter how many breath mints he sucked, times he rinsed his mouth. It was the taste of betrayal, he thinks – betrayal to MJ, the betrayal MJ felt from Jin Jin.

When he walked into chemistry that next day, he sat beside Bin with a new-found confidence. His stomach was still home to a thousand little butterflies, but he kept swallowing them down with this force of energy he didn’t know he had. He turned to him in his seat, smile wide, eyes crinkled.

He put his hand out, knowing already Bin wouldn’t move to shake it. The boy beside him was watching him with eyebrows raised, as though he had lost his mind. Maybe he had.

“I’m Dongmin.” The let his hand sit there for a few more moments, before he dropped it to the table. He didn’t deflate, though, like he was sure Bin had hoped. “I’m new, obviously. And new to Seoul, too. My mum – she’s a pharmacist, makes these amazing mini donuts that are actually muffins, they’re to _die_ for. My dad, he’s a lawyer. Not big-shot, but big enough. He’s the reason we moved. He used to travel back and forth from the city, and when he got this new case he’s working on, my ‘rents to decided to take us all in to the city. Big change, actually.”

As he spoke, Bin continued to look straight ahead, at the board. Dongmin would talk when the teacher permitted, though he got no response. He was rambling, he knew he was, and when the boy did occasionally glance his way, he’d bat his eyelashes a little more than usual, press his glossy lips together hopefully. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for – whether it be words, anything spoken to him, or if he wanted him to _flirt back._ It was, no doubt, the latter, but curiosity still stung on his fingertips and tip of his tongue.

“Your name is Moon Bin, right?” Bin’s eyes didn’t move from the front of the room, but they twitched. “Beautiful name for a beautiful boy.” With a wink, and a flirty wave that he didn’t know he had in him, Dongmin packed away his gear in time for the bell to ring overhead.

If he looked back over his shoulder as he whisked out – swaying his hips a little more than normal – he would have seen Bin’s somewhat gobsmacked expression.

 

The week continued in an almost identical fashion. Dongmin would come to school, enter the chemistry classroom as bubbly as he could, and indulge his senses into the boy beside him. The more he spoke, the more connected he got. The boy never responded, but he felt like he was learning more about him. He could tell when he was listening, and when he was bored of the content he was talking about. He knew when something surprised him, when he wanted him to shut up.  

(“I was thinking last night, about dreams, y’know? How we have dreams when we go to sleep, but we also have dreams for our waking life. And people think those are the same thing, but I really don’t agree. Do you? You’re shy, I get it. See, my dream _last_ night – won’t talk about that here, if you get what I mean – is very different to my real-life dream. I want to _sing._ I don’t need to be famous, hell, I don’t even need it to be my job. But I want to be a singer of some kind, even if it’s just a hobby.”)

When he saw him in the hallway between classes, he’d wave at him, smile wide and, now and then, throw a wink his way. The boy grew more and more confused, it was obvious from his expression, but even still, he never did anything to stop it. So Dongmin kept going, and going, and going, until soon he was yelling out Bin’s name in the lunch hall, and waving him down, and stopping him in the hallway to rant some more because Chemistry just wasn’t enough.

It wasn’t _enough_ , it would never be enough, Dongmin realised, because the fluttering in his stomach only got worse and worse, and he couldn’t sleep because all he could think about Bin’s hands and his eyes and lips, and the twitch of his lip when he was amused by something he said; the slow blink when he was _bored;_ the tapping of his fingers against the desk when he was getting irritated by the sound of his voice. It was all there, the structure for a friendship, everything but the _words_. Everything but the words, and the sanity, and patience. _Everything, everything, everything,_ until one day, everything was just _gone._

 

There was a gathering of people around his locker, which was strange in itself, but what was stranger, was the yelling that accompanied the people. Dongmin walked a little quicker, feeling his satchel slap against his side with every step. When he got there, he saw Jin Jin – eyes red with anger – and MJ, crouched against Dongmin’s locker. Jin Jin didn’t have a hand on him, and made no move too, but his expression was dangerous enough as it was. The fear in MJ’s eyes explained it enough.

Dongmin didn’t catch all of what Jin Jin was saying but he caught enough snippets to know it wasn’t friendly. Something about _shutting your friend up!_ And something about _fuck you up_ and other expletives Dongmin didn’t wish to repeat, that had him shaking a little in his shoes.

This was his fault, he realised, as he shoved through the crowds and up into Jin Jin’s space. MJ was his friend, and somewhere along the line he had forgotten that. His first day here – barely two weeks ago – MJ had been the only one to talk to him, to truly give a shit about him. And here he was, waltzing around, trying to gain the affections of a boy he truly didn’t care, but was bothered enough by him that he’d have his only friend harassed for it.

Dongmin stepped further forward, in front of MJ, and turned to face Jin Jin. The boy he faced snorted, went to shove him away, but Dongmin caught his wrist. He pushed him backwards with all the strength he had, which was, truthfully, not a lot – but enough to have him stumble slightly, and trip into a few members of the crowd.

No words were needed, and in fact, neither MJ or Dongmin said anything for the rest of the day. Dongmin walked MJ to his first place, linked his arm through his. When they parted, he squeezed the shorter boys hand for good measure, told him he’d see him next period, before he hurried back to his own class before he was late. He dreaded chemistry. Normally, he’d like to talk to Bin, ramble and rant about meaningless garbage that held no value to either of them, but made Dongmin’s day that much more special and memorable.

But not today.

Today, Dongmin took his seat beside Moon Bin as quickly and as quietly as he could. Instead of saying hello, he bit his tongue and said nothing at all. He took his gear from his bag without a single glance in his direction, and didn’t even have an urge too. Normally, he would never feel Bin’s eyes on his, for he looked his way so very little, that he’d know straight away when his eyes flickered to his. But today, with the monsoon rains still falling as they were – heavy and relentless – against the windows of the classroom, Dongmin could feel Bin’s eyes trained on him the entire hour. Dongmin would watch the board, the teacher move around inanimately as he described the content that Dongmin _still_ didn’t understand; or he watched the clock, the minutes ticking closer to home at the slowest pace Dongmin had ever _seen_. It was hell, because all he wanted to do was turn to him, say his name, talk to him about his day, his life, his world. But that was all gone now, because Moon Bin was friends with Park Jinwoo, and Park Jinwoo had threatened his best friend.

His best friend, who, at the end of the day, was sat on the floor by his locker, clutching a photograph in his hand. Dongmin slid down beside him, dropping his back and books on the floor with a _thump._ MJ’s head fell on Dongmin’s shoulder, the tears surfacing, and breaching, and falling harshly, but soundless all the same. MJ allowed Dongmin to take the photo from him, and Dongmin bit back his own tears. The photo was old, obviously well-loved, and Dongmin recognised MJ in the photo straight away. He was much younger than he was now, but he couldn’t have been younger than fifteen. Beside him was Jin Jin, though he looked very different – more innocent, more carefree. Like there wasn’t the weight of twelve thousand suns on his shoulders.

He handed the photograph back, and MJ clutched it back in his hands. The photo was rumbled, more so now in his tight grip, but Dongmin didn’t try to snap him out of it. Instead, he mumbled, “he broke your heart again.”

He felt MJ nod his head. “It’s different this time, Minnie. I didn’t give him permission this time.” He looks up at him through small, tired eyes, violently red around the edges. Dongmin’s own heart was breaking at the sight of him. “I was so sure I got my heart back. Broken, yes, but I got it _back._ How could he break it _again?”_ His voice cracked on his last word, and then a new wave of tears came forth.

With MJ’s head on his shoulder, and Dongmin’s head on his, he watched three set of feet walk from the lunch room past them in the hall. He recognised the walk instantly, without needing to see their faces. It was Rocky, in the middle, with Jin Jin on his left side, furthest away from them. Then on his right was Moon Bin, who he looked up at now.

Had it been any other situation, Dongmin would have gasped. But right now, with MJ sobbing against his shoulder, his own silent tears forming behind his eyelids, coating his eyes in a blurriness, he couldn’t care for the look of distress in Moon Bin’s eyes; or the way those same eyes never left his; the way he was biting his lip with worrying teeth. Their eyes never left each other for the few seconds he passed them, but it felt like centuries, like they were gods walking amongst them, mere mortals.

When they passed, Dongmin realised MJ was right.

The thing about Moon Bin was that he just wasn’t worth his time.


	2. break: part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last name Moon was common enough that it didn’t necessarily mean Dongmin was at Bin’s home right now. In fact, it was so common, that it could be hundreds of other Korean residents before it was him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I did normally want to write this story in 3 parts - but im in the process of moving, and I may not be able to get the whole thing up for a little while...so I've split it into 4 parts. This is Break Part 1, part 2 will be coming soon :)  
> I finish moving mid-next week, hopefully, so the next part will be up after that (i'm hoping before though, if i get my shit sorted).  
> As always, pretty rough - i hardly edited this and my proofreading skills are pathetic, so there's that.

It had happened over dinner.

It was a few days in to the school break, and Dongmin was setting the table as his Mum and Dad pottered around in the kitchen. He had spent most the day at MJ’s place; a penthouse-style apartment a forty-minute bus ride from his house, with bright colours and eclectic one-off pieces of furniture. The place seemed to mimic MJ’s personality perfectly – loud and boisterous and full of love and life, and matched that of his parents, too, who’d Dongmin had met the day before. They were the type of people who welcomed you so quickly into their home, that you felt like you had been there all along, and not that you’d entered a short thirty minutes ago. The way he’d met MJ’s parents had been slightly uncomfortable; _awkward_ , to say the least.

After the dreaded last day of school, which found both MJ and himself leaning against his locker, crying over memories past and a photograph, Dongmin had sent a text to his Mum saying he was going to his friend’s place, and took the bus with MJ. The ride had been completely silent, with MJ’s head leaning against his shoulder as he drifted in and out of sleep. Dongmin knew that feeling of exhaustion; the heaviness of your eyelids when you’ve cried yourself dry, when you feel neither alive nor dead, and you’re not even sure if you’re breathing anymore. At the apartment, MJ closed all the blinds in his room, and crawled into his bed still dressed in his uniform. Dongmin took the time to remove his blazer and shoes, pulling the tie of over his head, before he snuggled in close behind his best friend. He wasn’t usually big on cuddling, his arms always got in the way, and he didn’t know what to do with his hands, but what with the way MJ’s eyes had looked so drained of life, as though he were now an empty vessel, Dongmin decided that he _could_ be, even just for one night.

MJ’s breathing didn’t take long to fall shallow and even out, a tiny whistle easing its way out between his parted lips, and Dongmin was half asleep himself when the door cracked open a fraction. The intrusion of light made Dongmin lift his head slightly, meeting eyes with a woman who MJ held so much resemblance too that he knew it was his mother instantly. Dongmin had eased himself off the bed as quietly as he could, fixed the blankets around MJ’s shoulders, before sneaking out of the room. MJ’s mother was a delicate woman of a petite build, though his Dad was quite the opposite – Dongmin had smiled at that, knowing MJ had taken after his mother in more than one way. They were funny, too, as well as overtly kind. He had dinner with them while MJ slept in the next room, and when the boy emerged from the darkness around nine pm to find Dongmin watching a movie with them in the lounge, he hadn’t even questioned it. He shuffled across to the room to kiss the top of his Mum’s head, sat down beside Dongmin without a word, a settled in to watch it with them. Dongmin felt as though he had moulded right in; like he was a sibling in a family he’d never met before, but felt like he _had._ Like a photo of him may appear on the mantelpiece above the free-standing fireplace, and he wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at it. MJ and his family was comfort and safety, much like his own, but it felt different here – not any better than his own, but refreshingly new and unfamiliar. It was so refreshing, in fact, that he never wanted to leave.

So, one night had rolled into two, and then three, and then every night for the rest of the week, up until this moment. Dongmin hadn’t minded – in fact, it was quite the opposite. Though, eventually, his parents asked him to have dinner with them at least one night this week. He knew they didn’t mind him spending it with MJ – they had yet to meet him, but had heard enough of him to know that he was important – but rather they just wanted to make sure he was still alive, not taking illicit drugs, or tattooing gang symbols on his forehead.

His parents walked around the kitchen island and over to the dining table. Although still relatively new to the home, Dongmin had already found comfort within it. It was all the same furniture that had been at his old house, so slices of memories would always rush back to him in this new, foreign backdrop. They placed the bowls of food on the placemats in the middle, and Dongmin picked up on snippets and tail-ends of their conversation, about how their days were, drama from work, or news from back home. Dongmin played his part in the mindless conversation, saying the same things he always did – he had a good day, spent it with MJ, didn’t do much, went to the park for a while. His parents were satisfied with his appearance to dinner, and his Mum tousled up his hair with her hand at one point, like she used to as a child, before going back to his food.

Though the routine was bland and somewhat boring, Dongmin loved it all the same. Although MJ’s family life was different and refreshing, there was nothing better than home-comforts, something only this dull table-talk could offer. He knew he took it for granted more often than not, and every now and then he’d battle with himself over it, but he loved his parents and the life they provided him, the life he equally played a part in.

That appreciation though was all set to change, even for just a moment, when his Dad brought up his singing at the table. His Dad was supportive of the idea, despite his persistent pushing of university to Dongmin, and had actually been the one to enlist him in several up-market singing lessons as a child. So supportive, in fact, that he had told his colleague that he’d sing at his wedding for him.

“You _what?_ ” Dongmin spat across the table at his Dad.

The older man had just shrugged, shovelling a spoonful of rice into his mouth. “Not for the whole night, just a few songs here and there.”

His Mum had looked at him with what could only be described as pure delight, “that’s exciting, DD!”

Dongmin shook his head, sitting down his spoon. “No, it isn’t! Dad, why would you do that!”

The man in question sighed, “you like to sing, from what I remember. The bill that comes for your lessons every month tells me that.” Dongmin blushed, feeling a little guilty. “He’s a really nice man, welcomed me with open arms at the new firm. His wedding had been a little rushed, and he’s struggling to organise the music so I said you’d be more than willing to sing a few songs.”

His Dad had said it as though it were nothing, but it _wasn’t nothing._ Dongmin had never sung at a wedding before, and weddings were important, memorable events in people’s lives, and he didn’t want to be held responsible for worsening it.

“ _Dad_ ,” he said around a groan, dropping his head into his hands. He’d partaken in contests before, and he’d won plenty of awards, so he knew that he wasn’t tone deaf – but his voice wasn’t for everybody, and he didn’t want to be thrusted upon a family who didn’t like his style.

“Dongmin, please. It would really mean a lot to me if you did it.”

His Dad was using his guilt-tripping eyes, a look he knew Dongmin, ultimately, couldn’t refuse. He was a lawyer, after all. Dongmin sighed, knowing the battle was already lost to him. “When is it?”

“Two weeks from now.”

Dongmin’s eyebrows disappeared to his hairline. “ _Two weeks?!_ ” His hand shot out, accidentally knocking his spoon off the table, falling to the tiles below with a series of _clangs._ “I’ve only got _two weeks_ to prepare for a _wedding?_ Dad!”

His Dad cringed a little, knowing it was a lot to ask in such little time. He was a perfectionist, his parents knew it, and had learnt to give him enough notice for things so he could work up to it. “I know, I _know._ It’s not my fault though. It’s quite a casual ceremony and reception, and it was planned very last minute.”

He threw his hands up in dismay around him. “But _why?_ “

The man sighed, glancing at his wife for a second. He put down his spoon, and Dongmin took this as a sign that he was going to be giving a lengthy explanation. “He’s another lawyer at the firm, the groom. He’s a really great man, has a son about your age, I think. His first wife, his boy’s mother, was pretty uh, controversial with her parenting. He separated from her when his kid was ten, and had been trying to get legally divorced ever since.”

Dongmin felt bile rise in his stomach at the thought of what _controversial parenting_ could imply, but he didn’t have to think too hard about it to get an idea. He felt incredibly full of remorse for the boy, and the husband, who’d had this association with the mother. Some people, Dongmin feared, just weren’t fit to be parents.

“About two years in, he met his current fiancé. Obviously, they couldn’t marry, because he was still legally with his first wife – who turned up out of the blue at the office, and handed him the signed papers. He rang his fiancé then and there and practically organised half the wedding before he left the office that evening.” His Dad paused, took another mouthful of wine, wiped his mouth on his napkin. “I met her the next day. They invited us to the wedding, obviously, after I put forward your name. She’s a lovely lady, kid of her own, a year or so younger than you. Starting up at your school next semester, apparently. They’re very much in love.”

Dongmin hummed, glad the story had a somewhat happy enough ending. He still felt sick to his stomach, though he wasn’t sure if it was from the story itself, or from the nerves beginning to bubble at the thought of singing in front of wedding guests. Alas, he had relented – he was going to do it for the sake of his Dad, who’s eyes were so full of admiration for his co-worker, and his friend, that saying no to him would only break his heart. When he muttered a queasy ‘ _yeah, okay. I’ll sing a few songs_ ’ his Mum had looked at him with such pride that his cheeks turned red.

That night, after he’d stacked the dishwasher and pressed _start,_ he turned to his parents over the kitchen bench. “So, who’s wedding did you say it was again?”

 

The last name _Moon_ was common enough that it didn’t necessarily mean Dongmin was at _Bin’s_ home right now. In fact, it was so common, that it could be hundreds of other Korean residents before it was him. According to his google search, there were over 400,000 people in South Korea with the surname, so the chances of it being Moon Bin – the beautiful, but _mean_ , student he’d been trying very hard to forget – were slim.  That night, when his Dad had told him about the _Moon_ family, Dongmin’s mind had instantly turned blank. He was paralysed with this stomach-sinking fury and a grotesque-like nausea that made him see double. He kept playing the scenario in his head, trying to think rationally, that there was no way it was who he thought it was. It was so incredibly unrealistic, that he felt _stupid_ for even allowing the idea to plant a seed in his mind in the first place. But now the seed was there, it had been sowed, and _Jesus,_ it was like a _weed_. He kept pulling it out but it kept coming back.

 

His Dad had said the next day that Mr Moon’s fiancé was overwhelming grateful that Dongmin was going to be singing, even for just a few songs. His Dad handed him a phone number scrawled neatly on the ripped-off corner of a takeaway menu, with ‘SANHA’ written above it. Dongmin had taken it from him, confused.

“It’s her son, the one I told you about. He plays guitar and is happy to help you pick some songs and practice. She told me to tell you to text him. She also said ‘make sure he knows not to feel awkward. Sanha is always telling me about things he finds awkward, and this isn’t one of them.’”

Dongmin had groaned, pressed his index fingers to his temples and _pushed_ , hoping to get rid of this nightmare. Alas, it didn’t even budge. He didn’t _want_ to text some random kid he had no intention of ever meeting, but the help would be appreciated, especially with helping pick songs that his parents would like.

So, he grabbed his bag and headed to the bus stop, where he got bus 474 and got off just a short walk from MJ’s, and made his way up the complex. There was no way he was doing this alone, and he hadn’t seen MJ all day, anyways, and had missed his contagious laughter. Despite the weight that pressed against MJ’s chest – _heartbreak_ , he had said, _it’s unlike any other pain I’ve felt_. _And I’ve broken my pelvis_ , _twice_ – he had managed to get a bit brighter each day, and Dongmin knew it was because he didn’t have to see his face at school every day. The monsoon had eased, though it did still rain – the humidity hadn’t released its muggy grip on the city, either, making a bead of sweat run from his hairline and down his spine.  MJ’s parents always had the place air-conditioned to complete comfort – not too cold, but cold enough that you felt at ease – and Dongmin longed for it now. The door was always unlocked, and today was no different. He headed inside, knowing that his parents were at work, but that he’d still be lying in bed. If he didn’t have to, MJ would stay in bed all day – scrolling through his phone, watching a movie on his laptop, sleeping more, and eating from his snack collection under his bed.

Dongmin didn’t bother knocking. He waltzed into the room, kicked off his shoes, and clambered onto the bed. He rested his head on the pillow beside MJ, who was sound asleep still.

“MJ,” he whispered, poking at the boy’s cheek. He made a snuff in his sleep, swiping at his hand, before settling back down again.

Dongmin chuckled, “M _J_.” He dragged out the _J_ with a giggle on his tongue, poking at his face faster now, leaning over him.

The boy beside him groaned, slapping his hand again, but reluctantly opening his eyes. “Let me _sleep.”_

His words were thick with sleep and annoyance, though they were harmless all the same. “No,” he said. “I need you to help me construct a text to _Sanha.”_

MJ had closed his eyes again, though was still listening if the look of confusion on his face had anything to show for it. “Who the fucks _Sanha?_ ”

Dongmin had just snuggled down further into MJ’s sheets, letting his own eyes close. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

Later that afternoon, when they’d both napped long enough that they were able to drag themselves out of MJ’s room and into the lounge to binge watch documentaries, MJ helped him construct a text to the faceless Sanha. They had typed and backspaced so many times Dongmin was getting whiplash, but he knew the importance of the first text, especially with something this important. When he’d told MJ about the wedding, he’d been so unabashedly proud that Dongmin had nearly started crying, and had, without thinking, invited the boy as his plus one. It was a invitation he wasn’t even sure he was allowed to _extend,_ but MJ had accepted it anyway, and without hesitation.

When they finally constructed a text that sounded young enough but professional enough to be acceptable, Dongmin sent it as quickly as he could, otherwise he knew he’d second guess it and erase it.

 

**_Hi Sanha, this is Lee Dongmin. Your Mum said to text you about catching up and going over some music for the wedding? Just let me know (:_ **

They were only three minutes in to the next episode when his phone dinged, and lit up in the dark. MJ’s head turned to him, “what did he say?”

Dongmin quickly unlocked his phone and opened the message, relief flooding through him. “Hey Dongmin, cool to hear from you! I’m free most days during break, so I’m happy to catch up whenever. Can do tomorrow even?”

MJ nodded, “say yes.”

Dongmin pursed his lips. “Doesn’t that sound too eager?”

“Um, no Dongmin, it doesn’t. He’s the one who offered, anyways,” he said matter-of-factly.

Sighing, he said “okay, alright.”

“Besides,” MJ added. “You’re paranoid about the whole thing. The sooner you start practicing, the better.”

**_Tomorrow sounds perfect! What time?_ **

****

And so here he stood, outside the house Sanha had given him directions to. It was eleven in the morning, early enough that the busses weren’t overflowed with lunchtime city-goers, but late enough that he wasn’t weighed down by exhaustion. It had, however, meant he’d spent all morning shacked up with his nerves, and they had started to toy with his head more than usual as he made his way up to the front door. He swallowed down the lump in his throat, adjusted his hair in the reflection of the glass, and knocked.

It was followed by an undisturbed silence which lasted only a few seconds before he heard a loud stampede of feet. There was a yell that he couldn’t quite make out, and then a rush of hands unlocking the door. The face that appeared after it opened was not what he had imagined. He knew the boy was younger than he was by a few years, but he was _taller._ He was all long limbs and chocolate eyes and silver hair, all around a white, toothy smile. The boy was adorable, Dongmin decided.

“Hi,” the younger said, voice higher than expected. He held his hand out for Dongmin to shake, and when he did, he was surprised by the strength of the grip. “Wait,” he said. Dongmin stopped moving, smile faltering. “You _are_ Dongmin right?”

He nodded, Sanha – he assumed – relaxing. “Thank God. One time, when we were expecting a guest, I thought the person who had knocked on the door was them. Turns out it wasn’t, and they were trying to sell us something.” Dongmin smirked at the boy, at the speed at which he spoke his words, and the animated way he moved his hands as he did so. “I just kind of assumed you were Dongmin, but like, with how pretty you are, it wouldn’t surprise me if this was some new kind of tactic to sell us mere mortals things we don’t need.”

“Oh,” Dongmin said dumbly, cheeks red. “Thank you?”

Sanha shrugged one shoulder, smile undeterred. “You’re welcome. Just so you know, it would definitely work.”

Dongmin’s brows pulled together. “What would?”

“Using the hot guy to sell me stuff, duh.” Sanha ushered him inside, closed the door behind him. Dongmin felt a little dizzy. “I mean, if you tried to sell me something stupid, like those socks that mop the floor as you walk, or that egg-log thing, I’d buy ‘em.”

Dongmin snorted, “I should _definitely_ look into it then, if I’d be that successful.”

Sanha snickered, “you would be. At least you would be for me and my brother!” He carried on down the hall, expecting Dongmin to follow. He did, trying to take in his surroundings as much as he could, maybe catch a glimpse at one of the many photographs on the wall, to answer his dying question. He could just ask Sanha, but he didn’t want to come across as nosy or creepy on their first meeting. He shut his mouth, tried to silence his mind.

Sanha led them to the back of the house, and into a smallish room that looked dedicated to music itself. It was big enough for the piano against the back wall, and for two guitars, but not much else. Though cramped, it was still a comfortable space – with caramel lighting and a fan overhead, with awards and certificates lining the wall. Dongmin looked at those now, seeing Sanha’s name on all of them. He turned to the boy, eyebrows raised.

“You’re good,” he said, impressed. And he was impressed, that is. The boy was no more than sixteen, and he had already collected a huge amount of recognition for his guitar and his own singing, much more than Dongmin had.

Sanha shrugged, and said, “I go alright,” words laced with shy modesty.

Dongmin pressed a key on the piano, ringing out through the small room. Dongmin smiled at the good acoustics. “You play?”

He turned back to Sanha, shaking his head. “I used to. Not much now, no piano.”

Sanha pressed his lips together. “Well, feel free to use this one whenever. My brother plays – well, he _used_ to. He hasn’t touched it in years.”

Dongmin sat on the piano stool as Sanha got picked up the acoustic guitar from its stand. “Why’s that?”

Sanha sat on another stool tucked to the side of the piano, pulled the strap around his lanky body. “Not sure. Think he just grew out of it.” He strummed no tune in particular. “It was a pity. When he played, it was just,” he trailed off, eyes full of admiration and wonder, and he was shaking his head with a smile. “It was why I wanted to play music. He was so passionate and he brought life to music in ways I’d never heard before.”

Dongmin grinned at him, listened to his speedy rant of gratitude about his step brother, who he’d known for most of his life, and was so excited about actually becoming proper family. Sanha had cutely apologised after his tangent, though Dongmin repeated over and over that he truly didn’t mind.

“Do you have any songs in mind?” Sanha asked then, changing the subject.

Dongmin blushed, “not really. I mean, I have a general idea, but nothing specific.”

Sanha ushered his fingers at him. “Hit me with it.”

“Well, I think anything by Eddy Kim is go—”

“ _YES!”_ Sanha yelled, standing from the stool. Dongmin jumped in his own seat, not expecting his outburst, before Sanha started on other ramble about his love for the aforementioned singer, which his parents conveniently shared.

By the time Dongmin left Sanha’s house at four pm, they’d decided on a couple of his songs, and had plans to come back tomorrow. Though he’d only known him for a moment, Dongmin was sure that Sanha’s brother couldn’t be Bin from school. There was no way. No way could someone as sweet and innocent and warm as Sanha admire someone as cruel and cold-hearted as Bin.

_There was just no way._

 

He went straight from Sanha’s to MJ’s. When he walked in, his parents were in the kitchen. He waved hello to them as he made his way to MJ’s room, who looked like he was in the same position he had left him yesterday – sprawled across his bed, hair a messy tangle on the top of his head, eyes droopy. As always, there was music playing in the background, and somewhere in the room, he had lit a candle. The only difference from this scene to yesterdays, was that right now, there were silent tears running down MJ’s cheek. From the state of his pillow, Dongmin assumes he’s been crying for a while now.

Dongmin’s heart sinks. He had barely checked his phone while at Sanha’s, and when he had looked afterwards, he’d seen the number of texts from MJ asking how it went. There had been no indication he was upset though, or rather, more upset than normal. Everything that was happening with Jin Jin still hung heavy around his neck, but it had been getting easier being away from him. Right now, though, it seemed to be dragging him down again.

He sighed, flopping onto the bed beside him, dragging the shorter boy against his chest. His crying did slow, and if anything, it got worse. He started to let out noises now, little choked sobs from the back of his throat that made Dongmin’s own eyes sting, reminding him far too much of the time they were leaning against the lockers. Because MJ was the bubbliest person he’d met, seeing him this hurt made him feel physically weak. He knew he should try comforting him with some soothing words, but nothing he could say would make it hurt any less. Instead, he blew cold air across his head, brushing the hair smooth between his fingers.

They lay there wordlessly, MJ’s tears starting to slow, his heartbroken noises beginning to quieten. MJ eventually lifts his head, muttering a little _thank you_ , to Dongmin before pushing himself up into a sitting position on the bed. Dongmin follows him, leans against the headboard. Before Dongmin could ask, MJ was handing him his phone, opened at a text conversation.

He took the phone carefully, cringing when the contact said _Jinny_ at the top. MJ hadn’t even deleted his number, Dongmin realises, had kept it the whole time. Another painful reminder of the love his best friend felt for _his_ ex-best-friend.

There wasn’t a huge amount of text messages there, and in fact, MJ hadn’t responded to any of them. They were all from today – four of them, two of them long, the other two short.

 

 ** _I miss you_** was the first one, followed a succinct **_you’re still my best friend._** Dongmin looked across to the boy sitting beside him, who was just looking straight ahead, eyes focused on nothing in particular. The third text, longer this time, felt frantic and rushed. **_MJ why aren’t you replying? You’re always on your phone so I know you’ve got this. Are you okay? I want to talk to you. I want to talk to you about what happened last week. At school. Please, talk to me._** Dongmin scoffed, without humour, but scrolled a little downwards to read the final text. It was sent not long ago, a few minutes before Dongmin had arrived, and the tone was completely different, but just as confusing. **_Fine then. Don’t reply. Remain trapped in your little bubble. Fuck you anyway._** Dongmin dropped his hand, keeping the phone wrapped in his fingers, but resting it on his thigh. He sunk lower on the bed, so his head could fall comfortably on MJ’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, MJ.” It came out in a whisper, though he hadn’t intended it to.

He felt MJ quivered beneath his head, and he knew he had started to cry again. Just then, MJ’s phone buzzed in his hand. It was Jin Jin again, and MJ said, “ _tell me.”_

Dongmin swallowed harshly, hating to know he had to read those very words aloud, and to the boy to which they were aimed. But he couldn’t lie, he couldn’t.

“I love you,” Dongmin read, voice shaky, but a little louder this time. “And I’ll prove it.”

 

The next morning, extracting himself from MJ’s sleeping grip was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do. His crying had stopped late last night, so they ordered takeaway and watched more of their crime scene cleaner’s documentary, and fell asleep not long after. MJ’s face was red and puffy from crying, and this morning, when Dongmin turned to leave, he noticed the red still around his eyes, his dry, cracked lips. He darted back to the bed, pressing a gentle kiss to the boy’s temple. He’ll send him a text later, when he gets to Sanha’s, telling him where he is. He made a mental note to check his phone more often this time, though, should anything else happen. He managed to make it down onto the street and to the bus station before the rains started getting heavier, but by the time the bus pulled up to Sanha’s house, it was bucketing down. He ran up the front steps and under the protection of the eaves. He knocked a few times, pushing the hood of his raincoat down, and shoving his hands into his pockets. The door opened, and all of Dongmin’s questions were answered.

There were two people at the door, not one, not _Sanha_ alone, like he had expected. Of the more than 400,000 _Moon’s_ in South Korea, Dongmin was visiting the home of the one and only Moon _Bin_. The boy who was making it very difficult for Dongmin to forget about him. Especially right _now_ , shirtless and sweaty and breathing heavily through his gaping mouth.

“ _Dongmin_?”

Dongmin realises this is the first time he’s heard Bin speak, and he finds himself admiring the softness and delicacy of his voice. He slaps himself mentally at the sound of his cooing monologue, and can barely contain himself from saying something vile his way.

“ _Bin?_ ”

There was a moment of silent recognition and then “Wait,” a third voice says, and Dongmin had hardly noticed Sanha standing behind Bin, his silver hair and brown eyes peeking curiously over his shoulder. “You _know_ each other?” Neither of them say anything, and Dongmin decides to let Bin do the talking for once.

“Chemistry,” he says, and Dongmin assumes Bin was going for the short and sweet option, but it just left Sanha open to misinterpretation, and judging by the smile on his face, he already _had._

“Yes, I can see that you _do._ But I mean how did you _meet?_ ” The youngest of the three playfully jabs at his step-brother’s cheek, causing the older male to reach around him and jab at his ribs.

Dongmin’s cheeks were flushed a pale pink, and had the weather been any different, perhaps Sanha would have questioned it. Dongmin coughed, drawing Sanha’s attention back to him. He didn’t look at Bin at all when he said, “we’re lab partners. In chemistry,” and didn’t look at him for the rest of the conversation in the hallway, and didn’t even lift his eyes off Sanha for a single moment until he was sure Bin was gone, the music room door shut securely behind them.

 _This is hell_ , Dongmin thought. _I’m actually in hell._

**_Just getting the drinks now. Be at yours soon._ **

Dongmin sent the text to MJ before pocketing his phone. He’d left Sanha’s and headed straight to MJ’s again, promising to pick up hot chocolates at the café near his place before making his way up.  When he placed his order though, and turned to wait by the takeaway counter, Dongmin swore this really was hell, and he was its newest guest.

Because there, standing where Dongmin was about to, Was Jin Jin.

He hadn’t seen him yet, but he must have been telepathic, because in the very next moment they were staring at each other. He looked more or less the same as he did at school, minus the school uniform, wearing jeans a t-shirt in its place. He wore the same glasses, the same mundane expression on his face, that twisted a little when he recognised Dongmin.

The person in front of Jin Jin had their name called, and took their takeaway cup gratefully before zipping out the door. Jin Jin’s order would come next, and then he’d hopefully leave, and let Dongmin wait in isolation. But it seemed Jin Jin was on a different wavelength.

“Dongmin, right?” His voice was as he remembered it, as he heard it in the hallway, though a little less cruel. Dongmin didn’t meet his eyes, but he did nod. There was a hum.

“Were you at MJ’s just now?”

Dongmin realises that of course Jin Jin knows where MJ lives – just upstairs in the complex. They’d been best friends for years, and probably stood in the same position he had at some point those years ago. He didn’t say anything again, unsure if he could trust his voice, or if it would even work in the first place. Jin Jin took his silence as a no, and spoke again.

“Headed there?”

Dongmin finally turned his head to the shorter boy, meeting his empty gaze. He was biting his bottom lip and toying with the hem of his t-shirt, and for tiny second, Dongmin saw him as a scared, teenage boy. But then the image of MJ crying upstairs returned in his mind, and the Jin Jin in front of him shapeshifted back to his true form in his head. He didn’t say anything though; not for the entire interaction they had. He never uttered a word, because he knew what while his voice may work, the words that would split from his tongue were not acceptable in private, let alone in a crowded café.

The barista called Jin Jin’s name then, passing the coffee over to him. He took it with a smile and a quick thank you, which made Dongmin made, before glancing back at him. “Bin mentioned he saw you today. Heard you’re singing at his folks wedding.” It wasn’t a question, not that Dongmin would have answered if it had been.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you there, then. Tell MJ I said hello.” One moment he was there, and the next he was gone, but his words hung so coldly in the air that Dongmin thought he’d imagined the whole thing.

 

Dongmin sighed again, turning the volume down a smidge on the television. “I really don’t expect you to come, MJ. Really, I get it.”

MJ was holding his head in his hands, groaning every now and then as he relayed what Dongmin had told him from Sanha’s house and the café. He hadn’t told him until he’d finished his hot chocolate, because he had wanted his friend to bask in a little bit of enjoyment before he slammed him with some bad news. Truthfully, it should have registered to Dongmin the moment he saw Bin that Jin Jin would be going to the wedding. He assumed Minhyuk would be too, which wasn’t much better, because that meant they were outnumbered and in unfamiliar territory.

“No,” MJ said. “I’m not letting you go alone.” He leant back against the couch. “Shit, this is just a big bag of _suck._ ”

Dongmin leant back beside him, puffing out a chest-full of air, his hair fanning up out of his eyes. “What are we gonna do?”

He turned his head to face MJ, who did the same thing to him. He shrugged, slapping his hands on the space between them. “We’re _screwed_. The guy _I_ love who wants to either kill me or kiss me, I can’t figure it out, is going to be there. And the guy _you’ve_ wanted to bone since the moment you saw his face is going to be there.”

“ _Oh my, God, MJ”_ Dongmin said, cheeks turning a violent shade of red, though he couldn’t stop the small laugh that left him.

“We’re screwed,” the boy repeated, sitting up, eyes and hands frantic. “ _And_ not even in the _good_ way!”

Fifteen minutes later, they were still sitting there in silence. His Mum came into the room, undeterred by the silence. “Are you staying for Dinner Dongmin?”

Beside him, MJ’s head fell back against the couch cushions. “Yes, Mum, he’s staying for dinner. You literally gotta’ stop asking him that. He’s here every night. You actually think he’ll ever say no to my company?”

She scoffed, “with that attitude, he just might.”

 

He was at Sanha’s the next day, too, and the day after that, and the next, and the one after that. It was only a few days till the wedding – _four days_ , to be exact – and Dongmin had everything under control. He’d got his suit sorted, had the lyrics down pact, and had even practiced what he would say to the bride and groom. He just couldn’t figure out how to control his damn _nerves._ They would creep up on him even in their practices, Dongmin signing and Sanha playing the guitar, and the more and more he thought about it, the faster they came and harder they were to get rid of.

And Bin made it no easier.

Every time he turned up, Bin was there. Sweaty and shirtless as that first time. Apparently, the time that he and Sanha arrange to meet is also the same time Bin comes up from their basement, which had been renovated into a home gym and dance studio. That had surprised Dongmin when Sanha had explained it. Bin could _sing_ and _dance,_ and had been training well before he learnt to play the piano.

It was weird, too, seeing him all the time. Because while he had promised himself he would try forget all about him, and _hate_ him for what he’s supported Jin Jin in doing to MJ, he just couldn’t resist his smile, or the way he’d always say hello to him now, or even ask him if he wanted a drink or something to eat, or just ask him about his day. It was _weird_ , because after so much silence from him, it was strange to hear so much noise coming from his mouth. It freaked him out a little, even, because he didn’t know where the boy he met in class had gone.

But, he stood his ground, no matter how difficult Bin made it for him.

So, when he steps in side, he waltzes past Bin’s _perfectly chiselled_ bare chest and abdomen, and heads straight down the hall to the music room. He’s almost there when the most attractive man in the universe yells out to him.

“Sanha’s just in the shower – he’ll be there in a few. Can I get you anything?”

This was his moment to say no, like he always does to Bin’s offerings. But it was around lunch time, and Dongmin hadn’t eaten yet, and he was _that_ desperate for a cup of bloody tea that he’d even be willing to ask Bin for one. So, he did. He turned on his heel and headed back to the boy in question, who looked straight at him with a knowing smirk.

Dongmin glared right back, no smile, and no cheekiness in his step like Bin had. “White tea, no sugar,” he spat, and turned to leave, but his Mum’s voice scolded him in his head. He turned back, threw in a quick “please,” before scurrying back down the hallway to the music room.

 He waits patiently there now, itching for his cup of tea, and itching to get practice started so Bin will leave them alone. Dongmin rereads the awards on the wall, the one’s he could read by heart by now. He didn’t like Sanha’s brother all that much, but he did like Sanha himself – so he allowed the pride for his friend to swell in his chest while he waited.  It was curiosity that dragged him to the piano more than his actual desire to play. It had been a very long time, and his finger drags over the smoothness of the keys now, pressing down on one.

“Sanha said you used to play.” It was Bin’s voice from behind him, but he didn’t turn to face him.

“Said the same thing about you,” he muttered, feeling Bin come up behind him, place his cup of tea on top of the piano. Dongmin could almost cry at how it looked, with colour of it showing it had seeped long enough, but had the right amount of milk, too. He didn’t reach for it yet though, didn’t want to seem too eager.

Bin hummed beside him, “he says a lot things.”

“He lied then?”

Dongmin could feel Bin’s eyes on his, and felt his own eyes twitch, wanting a look of their own. “No,” Bin said. “No, he was telling the truth.” Bin put his fingers on the keys, as though he were going to play, but pulled them away before he could, shutting the cover. Dongmin used this time to pick up his tea, and wonder where the hell Sanha was.

“So,” Bin started, leaning against the piano to stare at him from under his lashes. Dongmin gulped down a sip of boiling hot tea, trying his best to train his eyes on Bin’s face, because his chest was still beautifully bare. “Will you sing for me?”

Dongmin scoffed, putting his mug down. “Yeah right.”

Bin shuffled a little closer, and Dongmin couldn’t _help_ it; his heart started thumping a little faster, a little louder in his ears, and his hands were getting clammy because Bin was _right there_ , and asshole or not, his body found him _pretty_ and was reacting accordingly. “ _Please_ ,” he whispered, his breath brushing like a feather against Dongmin’s lips.

He felt paralysed, silenced by the prettiness of his face and voice this close up, and Christ, he was so pathetic. It shouldn’t be this hard to _hate_ a guy who was an absolute prick. By feeling what he was feeling – being so damn attracted to Bin – he felt like he was going against MJ, despite him being fully aware of what he feels without needing to even tell him.

If Bin moved an inch closer, their lips would be touching. Dongmin let himself imagine what it would feel like, how soft and supple they’d be underneath his, how perfectly they’d match up. He could feel himself moving closer, but could do nothing about it; could feel his eyes close, could hear the hitch in Bin’s throat.

“Um,” a voice came. _Sanha._

Dongmin jerked backwards, eyes opening, sense rushing back into his brain like dam had broken. He didn’t dare look at Bin, and he almost didn’t look at Sanha, either. When he did, he regretted it, because his younger friend was giggling and wiggling his eyebrows at the both of them, eyes wide and knowing.

“I can come back?” Dongmin was looking at Sanha; Sanha at Bin; and Bin, Dongmin assumed, was looking at _him._

“No,” Dongmin said. “No need. We were just talking.”

Sanha shook his head, fake acceptance in his eyes. “Ah, yes, I see. I definitely believe you.” He clapped his hands together, ignoring Dongmin’s scowl. “Right, well then. Shall we practice?”

Dongmin could sense Bin beginning to settle himself on the piano stool, so he grabbed him by the arm on reflex – he _did_ not almost whimper at the feeling of his bicep, thank you very much – and jerked him upwards. “Nuh-uh, bud.”

Bin grinned cheekily at him, pointing to himself with both fingers. “I’m your buddy?”

Dongmin looked at him exasperatedly. “No, not ever, now leave us alone.”

He grabbed at the place his heart would be, and feigned broken-heartedness. “You wound me, Dongmin. Can I listen tomorrow?”

He shook his head, “no. You’ll hear it at the wedding.”

Bin whined like the child he was. _He’s so cute,_ Dongmin couldn’t help thinking, what with the way his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips pouty.  “I’m the best man. Don’t I get special treatment?”

“No,” Sanha said now, shaking his head at him. “You can listen tomorrow – sorry, Dongmin, but no complaining, once Bin has an idea in his head he will not stop – if you leave us alone, _now.”_

Bin grinned at his step-brother, then to him, and it was look filled with what Dongmin could only describe as _victorious._

When he left the room, Sanha had picked up his guitar, and began to strum the all-too familiar tune of one of their two songs. “You know, Dongmin, I know he’s my brother and all, but I give you permission.” Dongmin looked at him pointedly. “You know,” Sanha shrugged, “if you want to make out with him, you’re _allowed_ to. Don’t hold back on my part.”

Dongmin didn’t have time to splutter, or complain, or deny, even, because his cue had come up, and singing felt like a good way to change the subject, anyway.

 

When he told MJ about it later, all he did was laugh, earning a whack in the face with a decorative pillow from the couch.

 

Although Dongmin enjoyed Sanha’s company, he was glad the wedding was just a day away, because he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold back around Bin. He’d talked to MJ about the almost kiss – about he _wanted_ to kiss him – profusely followed by the sincerest apology he could muster. He felt terrible about it all, knowing what he _did_ , and the guilt was always wrapped around him like a second skin. MJ was, as he is about most things, _cool with it._ But Dongmin wasn’t. He wasn’t _cool_ with going against his friend like that; it didn’t sit well with his morals, the values he’d built up since he was young.

MJ would persistently tell him that, yes, he’s prick, _yes_ , Bin is an asshole, but that MJ shouldn’t be the one who dictates who and who not to hook up with. Dongmin finds himself spluttered that he doesn’t want to hook up with him, just that he wanted to know if his lips were as soft as they looked. By the time he’d finished talking, MJ was on the floor laughing, and Dongmin had dug himself a hole so deep, and thrown himself in it, that there was no chance of getting out of this one alive.

MJ, after he calmed down a little, proceeded to state that _kissing_ Moon Bin is fine, but dating was not. Dating meant emotions were involved, those pesky feelings that he himself had, and had ultimately destroyed by giving his heart away to Jin Jin. He said that kissing Bin wouldn’t _hurt_ him, because he got it; the guy was irresistibly attractive, and hardly into anyone, ever; but the boy was cruel and stone-cold, and dating him would only hurt MJ because he knew, at the end, Dongmin would be hurting _more_.

But Dongmin had promised himself that he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t because of MJ, his morals, and for himself – because he was sure that once started, it would be impossible to stop.

 

Either Bin had forgotten about Sanha’s agreement to hear him sing today, or he really didn’t care – because when he let Dongmin in, and handed him a cup of tea without him even asking, he walked back to the kitchen as though nothing had changed. Dongmin felt silly for even thinking it had. Bin probably felt weirded out by Dongmin trying to kiss him yesterday, but hadn’t Bin been flirting with him? Dongmin shook his head, it didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to try kiss him again anyway.

The wedding was in two days, but this was their final practice, as they were taking it a little easy, as to not strain Dongmin’s voice. It was a normal practice, with normal things and no interruptions which was totally normal. When Dongmin left that afternoon with plans of meeting Sanha at the wedding tomorrow, Dongmin realised two things. The first was that his head liked normal. The second was that his heart? Not so much.

 

****

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you thiiiiiiink, hit me up on my tumblr (my new url!) at [softsocky](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)


	3. break: part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...he sinks to the floor, still wrapped up in his friend, still wrapped up in fucking Moon Bin. He can hear himself choke out breathless why’s and help me’s, though he’s not sure if he’s talking to the universe or MJ at this point. He supposes it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow it's finally here. thank u for being so damn patient! also not proof read lmao so this is just a huge bloody mess

The night before the wedding, Dongmin slept poorly.

He had no reason too, really. When morning broke, he wouldn’t be the blushing bride-to-be, but merely someone singing a few songs at a wedding reception. The rush of his brain didn’t listen to his logic, however, so sleep not only avoided him, but laughed at him, too. It was teasing, right there on the edge, showing itself to him in the way that it weighed down his eyelids. Every time the temptation hit to surrender to their hold, the pressure was released – and instead of sweet bliss, he was met with terrorising images of his own anxiety.

He lay awake till three am, and the frustration that accompanied exhaustion sat heavy in his bones, making him shake and rattle against the sheets. He couldn’t get comfortable, because _with_ sheets it was too hot – the air was still muggy this time of month – but without them it was too cold. Half and half didn’t work either, because it irritated it more than it would ever comfort. He shucked himself out of his pyjama bottoms, hoping to find some release from the heat. He cringed at the feeling of his clammy legs against his warm sheets, wishing for not the first time that night that he could sleep through anything. If he could, right now wouldn’t have even been a problem. His anxiety would be non-existent, wouldn’t impact on his nightly sleep patterns, wouldn’t give him dark under eyes and lethargic body movements the next day.

Somewhere around five am, Dongmin felt floatier than normal. The cliff-face that sat in the distance of his mind was remarkably close now, and the fluttering of his eyelids was getting harder and harder to control. He desperately wanted sleep, but whenever his eyes closed, the darkness that should be there lit up with dangerous colour and imagery. Dongmin couldn’t decide what was _worse_. Both left bitter tastes on his tongue. He could either sleep, but fear the scenes his mind creates; or he could avoid sleep all together, and risk sleep deprivation for the wedding.

He couldn’t remember what decision he settled on, because in the end it hadn’t mattered. Sometime after five am, Dongmin succumbed to the lull of sleeping, rushing over him like small, powerless waves, not the big ones, the ones that knock you to the ground.

In the few hours he did sleep, it was riddled with dreams.

The whole dream itself played out in darkness, save for the stream of light that illuminated an old bar-stool in the near-distance. From what Dongmin could tell, the stool was once white – but somewhere along the line, whether it be because of time or trauma, it had flaked and turned a sickly yellow. Still, Dongmin felt somewhat enraptured by it; a sense of calm fulfilling him, and before he knew it, he was watching himself sit upon that very stool. He had expected it to feel rickety, as if were to sound as old as it looked, but it held strong and silently. His hands were now holding a microphone, one of those old-style ones, and he wore a white suit. For just a moment, this puzzled him – though he wasn’t sure if that was him watching the dream with confusion, or if it was his dream-self feeling it. Either way, he was surprised by his colour choice. The only person who usually wears white at these types of weddings was the bride – so why was he decked out in a fully-white suit? You never got answers in dreams, so his dream-self shrugged on, and though there was no music playing, he lifted the microphone to his mouth to sing. There was a moment of hesitation, a string of fear in the air, before he opened his mouth – but nothing came out.

There was just more silence; like another layer stretched atop the other. He looked down at the microphone in his hand, and then his eyes flickered upwards, to where there was now over a hundred set of eyes staring at him. The more he looked, the more he found hiding in the darkness. The white of their eyes were like glistening beacons, a lighthouse on the hill, though Dongmin didn’t feel as though they were there to protect him. Quite the opposite, in fact. He felt riddled with fear, and he couldn’t decipher if it was from the inability to sing or the people watching him, though it was likely it was a mix of the both. He tried to sing again, but to no avail – his voice was gone, it had been stolen from him. The part of his brain that somehow knew this was a dream told him the images weren’t real – just projections of his fear. But that didn’t matter; it never really mattered, because nightmares got you whether you were aware of them or not.

It was lighter now, though, and he could see how everyone in the audience wore black and navy. It was obscure, more funeral-like than the usual wedding attire. It seemed the dress code had been muddled up – he wore white, like the bride was supposed to, and they wore black, like someone had died _. Maybe they had_ , he thought. _Maybe this wasn’t actually a wedding_.

It took a second for him to realise he was muttering something into the microphone, and another second longer for him to know he was mumbling ‘ _Bin_ ’ over and over, his voice sounding like a ghostly echo in the now-empty room. The audience was gone, replaced by Bin himself standing like a beacon in the darkness. Dongmin hated that he felt suddenly calm, but hated Bin’s full-white suit more.

Bin was stepping closer to him now the nothingness between lighting up and getting brighter and exposing more of the world until suddenly—

When he woke in the morning to the sound of his alarm he’d set the night before drenched in sweat and heart racing in his ears, Dongmin realised that it had been a nightmare.

It was nothing like a dream at all.

 

His morning cup of tea did nothing to soothe his nerves, though his vanilla body wash had, for a little while, at least. He was getting ready at MJ’s house so they could leave together, and his Mum was adamant about getting cliché photographs of the two of them before they left. Dongmin had tried to argue with MJ about this, but the smaller boy raised his hands in defence.

“I tried telling her _no,_ but you know what she’s like!” Dongmin widened his eyes at him, as if to say, _you should have tried harder!_ “No, Dongmin! Do _not_ give me that look!”

“We’re letting going to your ex-best-friend’s best friend’s Dad’s wedding. This is _hell._ Why would she want to document that?”

MJ had merely shrugged, “she’s convinced herself this is like, prom or something. I don’t know, man, why don’t you ask her?”

Dongmin had asked her the next time he’d seen her, which was, coincidentally, a few minutes after talking with MJ. She put up a good fight, using a guilt only a mother can possess, claiming that her “little boy was growing up so fast” and that “I have no photos of him”. Dongmin wanted to argue, really, eh did, but the look in her eyes told him that if he did, her heart would break just a little. Dongmin didn’t want to be responsible for that, so he had just sighed, nodding in understanding and smirking at her happy clap.

He’d decided that he’d skip the bus today, and splurge on a taxi instead. He had a lot of things to carry with him – including his suit-bag itself, because he didn’t want to wear it just yet – as well as some extra bits and pieces for the wedding. The moment he stepped out of the house, he was hit with a wave of nausea, from both the heat and his nerves, and Dongmin makes a mental remark about how he’d never felt this nervous before a performance before. On the same line of thought, he wondered why this was different to other times, and much to his distaste he could only think of one thing.

_Moon Bin._

He shook away the boy’s name, and when the taxi stopped outside MJ’s building, he handed over the appropriate change before gathering up belongings and heading inside. He could hear MJ cackling outside the door, as well as his Mum saying something overtop of the laughter. Smiling, he let himself inside, heading directly to the location of the noise.

“Minnie!” MJ’s Mum wrapped him into a hug, kissed his head, but MJ just snorted from the couch and through a wave in his direction.

His Mum shook her head at her son, before turning back to Dongmin. “You boys head out to the balcony. I’ll bring out some tea – you still have plenty of time to get ready.”

She headed to the kitchen, and as Dongmin went towards the bi-fold doors that led to the balcony, MJ stopped him. “Don’t get mad, okay?”

He cocked his head to the side. “Mad? About what?”

“You’ll see,” he said with a sigh, leading Dongmin outside. When they got to the table, Dongmin immediately knew what his friend meant. There, on the modern glass-top table sat an exquisite arrangement of red roses. In the middle sat the largest, and Dongmin knew enough about flowers to know that it would have cost a fortune. Around the central bouquet sat smaller – but no less beautiful – bouquets, some roses, but most an assortment of beautiful colours. MJ was biting his lip, and had somehow made himself look even smaller.

“MJ, what the _fuck?_ ” He flinched. “MJ? Who are these from?” The boy didn’t meet his eyes, nor did he make any effort to respond. Dongmin didn’t need him to, though – he already knew who they were from.

 _I love you_ , he recalls from Jin’s text a few weeks ago. _I’ll prove it._ Was this him trying to prove his love? Really?

As if reading his mind, MJ spoke up. “There was a card, with the first bunch.” MJ reached to the central bouquet, dug around in the stems before pulling out a white card. He passed it wordlessly to Dongmin, cheeks flushed delicately.

The card was thick and heavy, made durable paper expensive florists tended to use for their clients. The print was hand-written in simple calligraphy.

_The first of many._

It was short, but not necessarily sweet – though, he wasn’t wrong. There had to be at least eight bouquets on the table, and Dongmin wasn’t even sure if this was all of them. When had this even started? Were there more inside? What did his parents think of it all?

“MJ…”

“Wait,” he said breathily. “There was another.”

The other card was also short, written from the same fountain pen as before. _Proof #1._  

Dongmin wanted to know if it was some kind of joke to Jin Jin. As though playing with MJ’s heart like this was some kind of amusement for him during the school break. He could feel his hands begin to shake, and he forgot all about his nervousness for his performance as he thought about Jin Jin’s possible motives.

“You’re mad.” It was a statement, not a question, and it fell from MJ’s lips so sullenly that Dongmin was so sure he was to start crying. Dongmin was mad, though not at MJ. His friend had done nothing wrong, guilty only of loving a boy who at first, swore he never loved him, but now, maybe he _did_. Dongmin wasn’t so sure; people didn’t change overnight from his experience, all this madness and communication from Jin Jin had done so, and Dongmin felt the bile in the back of his throat, though this time it was for MJ, not his nerves.

“I’m not mad at you, you know that right?”

MJ sat at the table now, at the end where the bouquets didn’t take up as much room. “But I didn’t _tell_ you about them.”

Dongmin sat opposite him, shrugging. Sure, it was a little surprising MJ hadn’t told him – but he was sure he had his reasons. “Why didn’t you?” MJ was fiddling with his fingers, examining the non-existent dirt under his nails. Dongmin kicked at his leg from under the table.

MJ yelped, dragging his legs back. “I didn’t tell you because,” he trailed off, ducking his head, lowering his voice. “I didn’t tell you because I know you’d tell me something rational, something that actually made sense, when all I wanted to do was pretend for just a moment it was real.”

Before Dongmin could respond, MJ’s Mum came through with tea and biscuits, setting them on the table with a ruffle of MJ’s hair before leaving them again.

“Pretend what was real, MJ?”

MJ drank a mouthful of tea, and silence sat so high in the air that Dongmin didn’t think his friend had heard him. He was going to repeat himself, but then decided not to, but MJ shrugged at him. When he lifted his eyes, they held that same emptiness they always held when talking about Jin Jin.

“That he loves me.”

 

Before either of them spoke again, they’d finished the biscuits, and their tea had gone cold and half-drunk. It was around 11 o’clock when MJ’s Mum ducked her head around the door, hair wispy in the breeze. “You boy’s better start getting ready. Sanha will be here soon.”

Sanha was the one to bring it up, actually, about meeting MJ, that is. It was during their last practice when he had asked more about his best friend, whom Dongmin had said very little about in case Sanha had known of him through Bin. He’d checked with MJ first before offering for Sanha to meet them at MJ’s before the wedding. Despite having already made plans to meet at the venue, Dongmin suggested it to the younger boy after MJ confirmed. The blonde had readily accepted, excited to meet the much-adored MJ, who was – as Dongmin had explained – just as loud and bubbly as Sanha was.

MJ quickly showered while Dongmin put his suit on. It was a very simple black, with matching black button up and skinny tie. MJ would make a comment about the lack of colour, but Dongmin wanted to go with more subdued – this meant he would avoid accidental matching with any other guests. After MJ had changed – looking identical to Dongmin, bar the black shirt, which was replaced with a classic white – the doorbell rang. Judging by the time on Dongmin’s watch, that was set to be Sanha. He inhaled sharply, let it all out in a ragged line. It was time.

 

MJ and Sanha hit it off, because of course they did. Their personalities were very much alike, their laughter drawing the attention of everyone else around them as they carried gear into the reception hall. The finishing touches were being put up and polished, and Dongmin noted the elegance of it all despite the short amount of notice the wedding planners would have had. They had already done some practice in the storeroom out back, and as Dongmin was running through some lines with MJ and Sanha was checking the tune on his guitar, he heard the latter boy’s name being called from across the room.

Dongmin had seen Sanha light up before – seen it when he told the boy he wanted to sing Eddy Kim that first time; when Bin had brought in his favourite takeaways during a practice without even having to ask; and now, like, _right now._ But this time, he lit up brighter than before, and Dongmin was having a hard time understanding why he’d do so at the sight of _Park Minhyuk._

Don’t get him wrong, Rocky was very attractive – small but muscular and eluded this sense of cool that Dongmin would have envied had the boy not been best mates with such pricks – but he didn’t see _the big deal_. Sanha did, apparently, if the way he ran towards him now with arms open had anything to say about it. Though Dongmin knew very little about the hugs recipient, he was sure he’d never seen him properly smile until now. Sanha collided with the shorter boy, who let out an _oof,_ but immediately wrapped his arms around the taller. Instinctively, Rocky turned his head down into Sanha’s shoulder, sat it there for a brief moment, before turning inwards, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek that Dongmin would’ve missed had he not been staring so intently. MJ must have seen it too, because he let out an almost inaudible ‘ _what the fucking fuck_?’ before turning on his heel and heading back to storeroom.

MJ needn’t express why he was angry – Dongmin immediately understood. Rocky – a student who was best friends with Bin and Jin Jin – had kissed Sanha on the cheek so naturally that it was obvious he did it all the time. So naturally, in fact, that it was a constant act of kindness, seen only in very close friendships. The thing was, though, that the three of them had excluded MJ for the majority of his high school life for being gay, and Dongmin might not have been the person to ask, but he was positive straight male friends didn’t kiss each other on the cheek. At least, not homophobic ones. This left Dongmin realising there were only a few options for what was actually going on. The first was that Sanha and Rocky were just very close, very _touchy_ friends – they did exist, Dongmin noted; he and MJ _were_ noticeably touchy friends. Though this still didn’t make much sense to him, being aware of the boy’s view on same-sex relationships. This led him to the second option, the other that bothered him most. The second option was that everything they knew about the three boys was a cover, and the reason Jin Jin turned on MJ that fateful day had not been because he was gay, but because of something else.

Dongmin hated to admit that the thought terrified him, and he knew that at some point he’d have to raise it with MJ. But for now, Dongmin pretended he’d never even thought it, and left in the direction MJ had just disappeared too.

MJ was cowering in a corner, much like Dongmin had seen Sanha do upon seeing a spider in the studio room at his house. Dongmin glanced sideways to the wall, where MJ’s eyes were fixed, but alas, it was free of any threatening arachnids. Dongmin kicked the bottom of his shoe, startling him.

Upon seeing him, MJ unravelled, rolled his eyes, and sprung to his feet. “What the fuck was that, Dongmin?” His voice sounded cold, harsh.

Dongmin took a small step back. “What do you mean? The kiss?” MJ didn’t reply. He looked at Dongmin like he was stupid, though. The boy sighed. “I don’t know, okay? I honestly hadn’t even heard Sanha _speak_ about Rocky before.”

MJ’s lip quivered. “Rocky _kissed his cheek_ , Dongmin. Rocky. Park Minhyuk. Known gay-hater Rocky. You following?”

“Yes, MJ, I’m following – and I’m as confused and angry as you are. I don’t know what’s going on there, but I didn’t know anything about it.” MJ narrowed his eyes. “I swear.” They reopened.

“Okay. Fine. But we’re finding out from Sanha later tonight.”

 

The ceremony was set to start, and although Dongmin and MJ had no emotional attachment to those getting married – hell, he hadn’t even _met_ either of them – they found seats at the back to watch. Most people had already filed in, the inaudible conversations reminding him of a coffee-shop he’d much rather be in. Hands were flapping around excitedly as old friends reacquainted themselves, squeals of joy catching his attention every now and then. He caught sight Sanha at the front, underneath a floral tapestry and white archway that sparked Dongmin and MJ alike as cliché and overused, but neither could deny that it was a beautiful arrangement. The colour theme was something he had seen in a movie recently, he was sure of it, because the earthy reds and muted yellows with hints of green tugged at his memory, and all he could think about was what romance-comedies he and MJ had seen lately. He tried to pin point it, but came up blank – or rather, not blank, but overwhelmed. They had watched far too many lately.

There were garlands of the same flowers overhead, too, perched on nearby trees and attached to the ends of the pews. Beside him, MJ was watching a lady a few rows in front of them tightening the straps of her daughter’s dress, and Dongmin realised how _bored_ both of them were. Dongmin hadn’t considered this to be a possibility – neither of them had – especially since they were terrified to the core because Bin and Jin Jin were going to be there. Boredom wasn’t something they had actually prepared for, and he was about to suggest leaving and just waiting out for the reception, when MJ’s attention snapped to the front of the crowd.

Despite his height, you couldn’t miss Jin Jin in a crowd. He might have been ugly inside, but on the outside, he most certainly was not. He still had his red hair, though it had begun to fade, dark roots just starting to greet the world at his scalp. He had his silver-framed glasses, and a black suit much like Dongmin and MJ themselves, and wore a huge smile as he laughed at something Bin had just said.

 _Bin_ , Dongmin thought. Bin would look good in anything he wore, that much he was sure of, but the way he looked in a full-blown tuxedo was unlike anything he had expected. His usual messily styled hair was slicked back and parted, exposing the beautiful expanse of his forehead that often went hidden behind his fringe. His cheeks were red with happiness, and for an outsider, who knew nothing about him, they would think he was the most pleasant boy in the world. To look at, he guessed he _was_ , but Dongmin knew his true colours, his true intentions, and when he saw Bin’s eyes flicker to the back of the seats, as though feeling eyes on him, all Dongmin could do was look away as quickly as he could.

When he did, he spotted Sanha. He was dressed identically to Bin, with matching red boutonnieres pinned to their suit jackets. Bin and Sanha were the best men, so it was fitting, but it still made Dongmin feel impossibly proud seeing the dorky younger boy look so dapper in his suit. Dongmin ignored the red-tinge on his own ears, the red flush on his own cheeks, because he could still feel Bin’s gaze on him. Instead, he turned his attention back to MJ, who was staring in the same general direction he’d just been watching. Though, instead of watching Bin, MJ was watching Jin Jin. Dongmin’s heart clenched. For a while there, he had forgotten how hard this must have been for him. To watch the boy he’d once considered his best friend – who he had, at one time, kissed and held and still _loved_ despite all the odds against him – and still _loved,_ still wanted to cherish and to hold. And this whole thing seemed ridiculous, Dongmin noted, especially at a wedding where love itself came to feed, to plant seeds in couples’ minds – or, to tease the lonely or broken hearted of the seed they were being starved of. And it was _painful_ , more so for MJ, because he had to live through that starvation as if it was the only remedy to everything he was feeling. Dongmin wished he knew another way; knew some kind of advice that would make MJ realise how much better he deserved. But that was the issue. MJ knew all this. He knew that Jin Jin was an asshole, had treated him unfairly and so bloody wrong that he didn’t deserve a second of his time. But MJ loved him. _He loved him_ – it was as simple and as difficult as that.

Music started to play – a live band behind them, lacking vocals and sounding a little rusty – and Dongmin’s attention was drawn back to Bin. Both he and Sanha were standing to their Dad’s right side, hands crossed in front of them. Dongmin noted that Sanha was already crying, much like his step father, who watched his bride saunter down the makeshift aisle as steadily as she could in those heels. The music playing was pretty, and Dongmin admired the fact that it was something he’d never heard before. He was worried it would have been the cliché aisle song, but it hadn’t been – it was gentle and wispy, and was building to a climax he wasn’t sure they were going to actually get too, at the pace she was walking, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was the look of love in Mr Moon’s eyes, a look that Dongmin had seen before, seen many times before. It was look that he couldn’t place the entire ceremony – not during the vows, or the kiss itself, or the registry afterwards. By the time the sun began to set, and people headed indoors for the reception, Dongmin had forgotten all about his Déjà vu, and went back to the storeroom to collect himself.

He grabbed his phone from his bag of gear, before ducking back out with MJ to the hall. They found their seats – not the best table, but neither cared – which included themselves and three others, who were old friends of the bride from a different time. While they ate, Dongmin and MJ chatted with the rest of their table mindlessly, and no matter how hard Dongmin tried to concentrate, he kept feeling his attention slipping. His eyes were endlessly drawn to the front of the room, where the wedding party sat – where _Bin_ sat. His cheeks were red still, though this time he assumed it was from the alcohol his father was allowing him to drink, and he was laughing so hard with Sanha that the whole table was watching them with drunken curiosity. Dongmin did, too, and he couldn’t help but watch the bride as well. He thought back to when his Dad told him about how his first wife treated his son – _treated Bin_ – and how the battle to be legally divorced took a huge toll on his life and his relationships. He thought about the way Bin’s biological mother raised him, wondered if she left any physical scars along with the emotional ones. And wondered back to his earlier thought, for a tiny second – he wondered if everything he knew about Moon Bin was a lie.

 

They were two servings in and what felt like twenty speeches later, when he saw Sanha leave his seat and head his way. He nudged MJ to his side, pulling his attention away from his feast and to the approaching boy.

“Oooh, your time to shine, boy,” he said around a mouthful of hot ham.

Dongmin scrunched his face up in disgust, though made no comment, because it was unlikely MJ would give a shit. Dongmin waved to the tall blonde, who waved back double the speed and with double the energy.

He squats down between his and MJ’s chairs, smelling faintly of sweat and cologne that he was fairly certain wasn’t his own. He sneakily snatches a piece of carrot off MJ’s plate, smirking at the boy. For having only met him a few hours ago, Sanha sure had taken a liking to MJ. That much was evident from the way Sanha would continuously laugh at everything MJ had to say earlier today at his place, and how his eyes would light up whenever the elder spoke. Dongmin found it unbearably cute, because Sanha looked at him like that, too.

“So,” Sanha said, turning away from MJ. “They’re going to be doing the first dance in a minute. After that, you’re up.”

“ _We’re_ up,” he corrected. 

Sanha snorts, “of course,” before he stands up between the seats, gesturing the two of them to follow.

Sanha seemed to be a natural born leader. Maybe it was his height, or the boldness of his personality, or maybe just his general boisterousness; whatever it was, Dongmin and MJ fell right into step behind him, not caring that he was several years younger. He didn’t always act it, either, so perhaps that was another contributing factor. The music that played lowly in the background now came directly from a CD; it wasn’t live, and was a mix of cliché floor-fillers and wedding songs that made Dongmin both cringe and sentimental. It stopped though, when the accumulation of people centred themselves around the edge of the dance floor, and people took their places behind the instruments set up on the makeshift stage at the back.

Mr and the now Mrs Moon positioned themselves in the centre of the floor as the band began to play. It was gentle and sweet, much like Dongmin had expected of the first dance, and whilst he didn’t recognise the song that was being played, he automatically decided that he liked it. It was mellow and the singers voice accompanied it with a deep drawl that Dongmin usually repulsed, but for some reason, it _worked_. The married couple in the middle knew all the words, so it held some significant sentiment to the two of them, it seemed, what with the way Mr Moon could clearly be seen crying as the couple spun.

Much like the movies he’d seen, other couples began to float onto the dance floor together, made of giggles and smiles and kisses that Dongmin felt himself detesting but nonetheless _craving._ He knew he was young, and that love would one day come for him – but he couldn’t help but want it now, much like most greedy teenagers, he supposed. He figured that there was only so much love that could be felt at one time, and perhaps he had just fallen a little short in this round. Next round, maybe, he’d be in the spotlight.

He wasn’t watching him, but he could feel MJ’s presence to his left, Sanha’s on his right, and though he was stuck in the middle, for the first time that night he felt absolutely content and satisfied with his life. Maybe it was the food, or the sneaky wine he’d had, or the love that was literally in the air, but he didn’t care for an actual answer – all he cared about was that he felt impeccably happy, for himself, for the couple, for everyone. At some point though, while the three of them watched on happily, Minhyuk broke away from the crowd on the other side, and made his way across to them. He felt Sanha freeze by his side, something he did when he was trying to remain calm and not freak out too much – something he did that tended to frightened people.

Minhyuk was short, yes, this much was true, but he held himself with such confidence that you’d never realise. He stopped in front of Sanha now, not caring for the other two beside him. He had to look up at the younger boy, but Sanha seemed to shrink _into_ him, like they were two souls conjoining. Dongmin gagged a little, glad no one seemed to notice.

Minhyuk held his hand out, a classic move MJ would later comment, and spluttered out – somewhat _timidly_ – “would you dance with me, Sanha?”

Sanha just cutely giggled, the way that he does, and accepted his outstretched hand wordlessly. As Minhyuk dragged him out to the floor, he quickly snapped around to MJ and Dongmin, letting out a squeal and Dongmin couldn’t resist throwing him a thumb’s up.

Dongmin thinks back to his earlier statement, about Sanha being a natural born leader, and he reconsiders it for just a second. As the new couple out on the floor begin to dance, Minhyuk falls so easily into the lead that Dongmin wonders if they had done this before. He thinks that maybe they _have_ , that it’s not uncommon for wedding parties to have dance lessons before weddings, but judging by the way they dance it seems like much more than a few lessons here and there. Sanha has flushed a deep, ruby red, and Dongmin found it unbearably cute, despite his dance partner. He turned to MJ to express as such, only to find his friends’ face contorted into something he’d never seen before. It was a morph of both disgust and admiration. Digust at the fact that Minhyuk had asked him to dance so easily; had placed his hand on Sanha’s waist without hesitation, dragged his body flush against his and led him across the dance floor as if it were nothing. He admired it for two reasons. First, the fluidity of it, the practiced ease as if it were second nature to them both. Secondly, because even MJ couldn’t deny it was _cute,_ not matter how hard he tried to fight it. What both MJ and Dongmin found irritating, though, was the lack of disgust in Minhyuk’s eyes. The boy was best friends with homophobes, surely that meant he, too, followed that train of thought. If he did, then why did he look at Sanha the way he did now – hold him the way he was, kiss his cheek earlier, and again now, and look so damn fond at the squeal Sanha let out because of it? He understood MJ’s torment, but he didn’t understand Park Minhyuk.

The song seemed to last forever, though right now, it seemed to reach its climax. There were drums now, and a bit of a heavier base, the gravelly drawl heightened and grew and evolved into something heavier but no less sweet. Dongmin was going to ask MJ to dance with him, as now most other had joined in, but the entire thought bypassed his mouth as Jin Jin and Bin made their way from the around the room. Dongmin had a horrible thought that maybe they had come to kick them out, but surely not – they didn’t _look_ malicious. In fact, Bin was _smiling_ , and Jin Jin looked remotely peaceful. They had removed their suit jackets and loosened their ties, top buttons undone, and Dongmin felt himself choke on nothing at the sight of the boy’s tanned throat. Then, suddenly, their eyes met, and the smile on Bin’s face fell away. Dongmin pressed his lips together, refusing to make a sound. He flickered his eyes down to MJ, whose expression looked just as gobsmacked as his did.

He trained his eyes back to Bin, who was now angrily talking into Jin Jin’s ear, slapping his arm repeatedly. The victim of his slaps wasn’t paying any attention to him, instead had his eyes locked on MJ – who was now, unsurprisingly, beginning to fidget and hyperventilate. _Jin’s_ expression could only be described as _hungry_ , and that creeped Dongmin out more than he thought it would, especially since he’d only ever viewed MJ’s feelings for Jin Jin as _sweet_ , nothing more. The look on Jin Jin’s face made him unwillingly recheck his perspective.

Dongmin tried to ignore the pang of _whatever_ that jabbed at his stomach, and kept his eyes on Jin Jin and MJ, making no attempt to look at Bin. He heard and felt MJ’s gulp when the two of them were just two metres from them, and then suddenly, they were stopped directly across from them, much like Minhyuk had just been. Dongmin looked at the floor, studying the grooves of the linoleum.

He could see Jin Jin’s wrist, the way it extended itself the way Minhyuk’s had – but this looked and felt different, because Dongmin had also seen that wrist trapping MJ against the row of lockers back at school, knew the hand attached to that wrist once held MJ with love and passion, and now it held hate. Jin Jin’s voice sounded loud and possessive out in the open like this, surrounded by heavy footsteps and loud bass and booming laughter.

“Care to dance?”

He was so sure MJ would say no – _he was so sure_ – but Jin Jin hadn’t even let him answer. He had snatched the boy’s hand without waiting for a response, his other free hand clutching at his waist and hoisting him deep into the throng of couples before Dongmin could do anything about it. MJ didn’t turn to look for him, to plead for him through the crowd, but he could sense the boy’s inner turmoil. The boy would be desperately wracking his brain for logic, for _reason,_ because while the love of his life twirls him under the fairy lights and flower garlands, his heart will be screaming joyously, but his brain will be sounding a lot like Dongmin’s disappointed voice. The heart, though, the heart will always win with MJ. It’s an unfair fight, and no matter how wrongly he was treated by Jin Jin, his body and his heart are still trained to react as though the love is still there.

Dongmin realises that Bin is still standing there in front of him, and there’s a heavy awkwardness in the air, and neither are sure what they’re supposed to do. He hadn’t spoken to him since back when he was still training with Sanha, and there had been that moment where his hormones flared and nearly made him _kiss_ the damn boy in front of him. The song surely had to be coming to close now, or at least very soon, _surely_ , it had felt like years. His watch would tell him it had only been three minutes, but _Christ_ , he wanted this to end. The boy in front of him sighed, loudly too, to be heard over the music. Dongmin saw the hand stretch out to him, too, but he ignored it and the wiggling of the fingers, beckoning him to take his hand and dance with him. _Was Bin joking?_

He scoffed, folded his arms as to stop himself taking the persistent hand, and turned to go back to his table. It was empty now, the other three guests off dancing and mingling. Bin was watching him, but Dongmin was watching MJ and Jin Jin, and Sanha and Minhyuk. The latter couple was twirling and you could see the redness of Sanha’s cheeks even from this distance, the glowing smile of fondness and admiration on Minhyuk’s lips, all his teeth exposed. _God,_ they looked so gone for each other. MJ was looking down at his feet, Jin Jin clutching him close to him, hand soft against the small of MJ’s back. He was talking, rapidly, it looked, and his eyes were remorseful and kind of hazy and held so much regret that Dongmin thought that maybe he was apologising. That was unlikely, though.

When both couples get swallowed up by the crowd, Dongmin has no choice but to let his eyes fall to Bin. He was standing right where he left him, but his outstretched hands had made their way into the pockets of his trousers. He was facing him, and Dongmin hated that instead of watching the people dance, Bin decided to watch _him_ instead. It was irritating, even a bit intimidating, and Dongmin wanted to look away but he found that he _couldn’t._ Or _wouldn’t_ was the better term, the more realistic term, but he didn’t want to think about what that all meant just yet.

They’re staring at each other – their expressions are blank and empty, he can feel it, because he’s mirroring what Bin’s giving him, and he’s giving him nothing. This nothing allows him time to think, a millisecond that rushes a hundred thoughts, but the main one, the most disturbing one being: _why would Bin want to dance with him?_

MJ appeared in the crowd again, as the music started to trail off, to quieten, and Dongmin’s nerves flared up when he realised it was nearly his time to get on the stage. He had to compete with that performance, too, he’d have to live up to that same expectation. That was too heavy to bare. Dongmin wondered if he slipped out now if anyone would even notice. They would though – or at least Sanha would, and he’d promised the married couple, and they had been so excited, and the taunting voice of his Dad rang loud and clear in his head as though he were sitting right beside him and yelling it at him. He couldn’t do it, he couldn’t disappoint and let those people down.

He swallowed his fear, and stood to his feet, holding his gaze on MJ and Jin Jin. When the music stopped, so did they – and everyone else. But while everyone else turned and clapped for the band, and then the newlyweds sharing a kiss, Dongmin watched Jin Jin’s position shift. His feet parted a bit wider, his shoulders flaring out as he lifted his hands from MJ’s waist to his face, cupping his cheeks in his palms. Dongmin knew that position – he _knew it_ , and he knew what to expect next and he was positive MJ did, too. Jin Jin was going to kiss him, he was going to do it, and nothing made sense anymore and his blood ran frightfully cold. So cold, in fact, that it made him wonder how cold MJ’s was feeling. He wanted to do something, to stop it, but he didn’t know how to move his body anymore, didn’t know what MJ wanted anymore, either.

It wasn’t a kiss it seemed, though, because just as their lips were to touch, MJ’s head jerked back with a screech. It wasn’t loud enough that everyone stopped and stared, and wasn’t obscure enough that people would consider it odd amongst the drunken loudness of the wedding after party, but Dongmin was so heavily focused on him that there had been no chance of him missing it.

MJ pushed further away from Jin Jin, pulling out of his arms and stumbling the tiniest bit. His vision was obscured by a wretched sob leaving his chest, the tears in his eyes that twinkled like the lights overhead. He headed this way, towards the table, towards Bin, but Sanha was waving at him from up on the stage, and this was his cue. It was his turn to sing, but his best friend was crying, and Dongmin felt so perplexed he felt dizzy.

Sanha stumbles down from the raised platform of the stage, and hurries his way, faster than MJ was moving because of his longer legs. Dongmin went to protest, tried to point to the crying boy coming his way, but Sanha already had him halfway across the room before he could do anything. His stomach twisted and turned, gurgled despite being well-fed. He was full of both food and nerves, and neither were fulfilling the hunger welling in his gut. Sanha already had his guitar over his head by the time Dongmin was situated on the bar stool – different to the one in his nightmare, but close enough for him be taken back there. He thought about the funeral-eyes and the beacon of light at the back of the darkness, at Bin, who stood a little further away now, at the back of crowd much like he had done in his nightmare. Dongmin’s palms were sweaty, but he didn’t want to wipe them because it was too obvious from up here. He had performed so many times that nerves had never really been this big of a problem, but Bin watching him and with MJ crying at their table – eyes full of tears but attentive as always – combined with the heavy expectation to make this wedding memorable for the happy couple, it all became too much for him. He felt himself choke, trying to suck in air but falling unsuccessful. He turned to Sanha to tell him, tell him that he couldn’t do it, but the younger boy took this as a nod of confirmation and began to play the tune etched into his mind.

He wasn’t sure what did it – instinct, or the fear of messing up outweighing the nerves that put him here – but when the moment came for him to open his mouth and sing, _he did._ It was the opposite to his nightmare. The words came out, and they sounded _good_. The pitch and tone was as he practiced, and he followed the strumming of Sanha’s guitar easily and with a practiced ease. The first song was one of Eddy Kim’s earlier tracks, a more upbeat, bouncier track to follow the slower first dance. People seemed to enjoy it, too, what with the way they danced and didn’t seem to be laughing at him. He hoped that maybe the happier vibe of the song would cheer MJ up, even just a tiny bit. He couldn’t see Jin Jin in the crowd, but he could see Bin still standing there in his peripheral vision. He didn’t dare take a full-blown glance, because he knew once he did, he’d see his reaction to his voice, and Dongmin wasn’t sure he’d be able to look if he satisfied that hunger he had.

The second song made it harder for Dongmin to ignore Bin. The song was much slower, one of Eddy’s newer songs – _When Night Falls_ – and though it sounded sadder, it was still entirely beautiful, and couples re-joined on the dance floor as they had done so earlier. This meant there was a clear path of sight to Bin, who now had Jin Jin and Minhyuk by his side. Dongmin made the fateful mistake of testing the waters, of risking a glance at Bin’s face.

The expression that sat there was what Dongmin knew to be _pride._ He’d seen it before – on his parents’ face, on MJ’s, Sanha’s. He’d seen it on the faces of his vocal coaches and on judges and on friends new and old. He’d seen pride, and he’d recognise its many shapes and forms. So, he knew. He knew the expression Bin held was _pride_ ; pride for him, for his voice, for performing the way he was at his Dad’s wedding. Jin Jin and Minhyuk’s faces shared similar expressions, though theirs’ were more impressed than proud. Normally, Dongmin would feel grateful at the compliments these expressions gave him, but right now, he felt sick because of it.The lyrics were getting to him, he could feel it.

He had acknowledged the prickling sensation behind his eyelids, and had willed his body to send the tears back to where they came from. They didn’t listen, it seemed, and had no intention of obeying him anyways, even if they had. Because by the time the last cord strung out from Sanha’s guitar, Dongmin was already off his seat, and halfway to the storeroom when the tears set themselves lose all on their own.

 

He hadn’t seen MJ make his way to the storeroom, but when Dongmin crashes into a body, feels their arms snake around him, he instantly knows its him. His knees give way the same time a painful sob leaves his lips, and he hates the fact that he hadn’t been there to comfort MJ, but here MJ is, comforting _him._ That just sets him off more as he sinks to the floor, still wrapped up in his friend, still wrapped up in fucking _Moon Bin._ He can hear himself choke out breathless _why_ ’s and _help me_ ’s, though he’s not sure if he’s talking to the universe or MJ at this point. He supposes it doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. What matters more is the way MJ’s hand soothes his hair comfortingly, the way his soft voice is incomprehensible to him over the sound of his crying, but calms his racing heart anyways.

He cries because he doesn’t understand his infatuation with the boy. The boy he knows next to nothing about – side from his rough upbringing and the snippets of his life he had gained from MJ and Sanha alike. The boy who, somehow, has an angelic smile but a demon-heart. He cries because Bin treated MJ badly, and MJ was his best friend, a title so much meaningful than _crush_ would ever be. This made him cry _more_ because here he was, defying MJ’s trust as a friend, and crushing hard for a boy who did nothing but cause problems in his life. He cries because he feels like a bad friend, like a bad _person_ , because he’s attracted to someone so easily, as if it were nothing, when it was _everything_ and when he has been nothing but cruel.

He must say all this, though he didn’t hear himself do so, because MJ is shushing him and rubbing patterns into his back, the way he does when he tries to get Dongmin to breathe. He does. He breathes now, and its ragged but it’s there, and his eyes are clearing a little bit now. He can make out the shape of MJ, his petite silhouette, the tiny smile tugging at his lips. He keeps holding him too, until Dongmin’s eyes are dry and red and _sore_ , and his lips are no longer trembling or being assaulted by his own teeth.

MJ doesn’t speak until Dongmin’s breathing is completely back to normal, when the shaking has stopped. He doesn’t drop his hold on him, though, which Dongmin appreciates. “Maybe, Dongmin,” he stops, hesitating. He contemplates, and then resigns himself. “Maybe you should get to know him.”

Dongmin was taken aback. “What?” His voice was thick and his ears felt a little blocked, but they were out there and he knew MJ would understand them.

The boy in question merely shrugged. “Well, you know. Maybe things have changed.”

Dongmin feels his face contort into a look of confusion and disgust, which earns him a playful slap on the arm. “Really, Minnie. I mean it.”

Dongmin shakes his head, “when did this happen?” He stops, and then remembers. “What the _hell_ did Jin Jin say to you?”

MJ’s cheeks turned pink at this, _jackpot._ So, he had said something then. He shrugged, his arms slipping away from Dongmin’s back, but stayed resting on his thighs. “He just…” His cheeks darkened, lip caught between his teeth. He was _glowing_ and Dongmin was _confused._

“MJ? Have you forgotten what he’s done to you?” He didn’t respond. “Has one dance with him just changed all that?”

MJ looked up at him, eyes pleading with him. “Dongmin, maybe we’ve – _I’ve_ – been wrong this whole time. Maybe things that used to made sense don’t anymore, and maybe situations have changed. Some things aren’t in play anymore.” Dongmin looked and felt miserable, he knew it, he could feel it in the drooping of his shoulders and the lull in his voice. MJ released a puff of air at this. “Why am I always having to explain things to you? Up,” he said, springing to his feet. “Let’s walk. It’s story time.”

 

They slipped back out into the reception as stealthily as they could. Dongmin didn’t want to run into Sanha or the three guys right now, not with what MJ had yet to tell him. They manage to get outside unnoticed, and the night air was still warm, but cool enough that it felt pleasant against his red cheeks. They walked the track around the edge of the Han, arms linked together, suit jackets tugged off and in their free hands. It had been an emotional day, and Dongmin was utterly exhausted – and it wasn’t even _done_ yet. He yawned, unable to cover his mouth at the suddenness of it, and MJ chuckled.

Dongmin nudged him, looked at him expectantly, and MJ resigned himself. “Alright. But no interrupting, okay?”

Dongmin hesitated, but nodded, biting his tongue.

“I didn’t want to dance with him. You know that right? I swear I didn’t lure him over, or anything. I mean, I was watching him, but you know, when am I not?” He kicked a stray pebble on the path, and Dongmin wanted to agree with the boy, even just to see him crack a smile, but he remained silent.

“He didn’t say much at first, just small talk, but I didn’t answer to any of it. I wasn’t a very accommodating dance partner, you could say,” he chuckled at this, but there was no real humour behind it. “He asked me how I was _going_? Can you even believe that? All I wanted to do was knee him in the ‘nads and leave.” The breeze was a little colder now, so MJ shucked his arms back through his jacket.

“he was quiet then, when I didn’t answer him, and I was kind of hoping that we’d just finish the dance and then it’d be over. But that was when I saw him, you know – start to cry.”

 _He cried?_ Dongmin hadn’t seen that part of the dance.

MJ shrugged to himself, “he said he was sorry. I mean, not in those words exactly, but in the way he said everything else,” he pointed to one of the benches, indicating for them to both sit.

“He began to tell me about how every night he thinks back to our first kiss. I never really told you much about, it doesn’t really matter, but it was _perfect_. At least, _I_ thought it was. At the time it made total sense, we clicked, you know? We _worked._ He started talking about how it plagued his dreams, or some shit like that. He was trying to make me understand how much it had actually affected him. I was getting antsy at this point, a bit annoyed, to say the least. I couldn’t see _you_ in the crowd, and _ugh_ , I knew Bin was still there and I was scared you were going to get killed, or something.” Dongmin snorted, but kept his promise – he didn’t speak, said nothing to reassure him.

“Jinny said that from the moment we kissed he had started thinking about his own sexuality. It terrified him, like it terrifies everyone I suppose. I remember being terrified after I realised I was gay, too. Anyway, he said that’s why at first, he stopped talking to me after I came out. He said it was because he was so damn happy, because it meant he had a _chance_ with me, but at the same, it was the worst news, because he’d have to come to terms with what he was trying to suppress. I get it, I mean, I think we all understand internalized homophobia to an extent. I just wish…I just wish it hadn’t happened like this, you know?”

MJ’s eyes were watery and shiny, much like they were before, though this time, none of the tears broke free. Dongmin thinks it’s because he’s cried so much tonight, that maybe they’ve all dried up.

“The way he acted…he said he was sorry for it, that there was no excuse for it. He said he was _scared_ , Dongmin – scared by what everyone else would think, scared of _me._ Minnie, he said he was so scared he’d lose me, that he’d bite the bullet and just do it sooner rather than later.”

MJ shakes his head in disbelief, “after I came out to him, he said that’s when he met Bin. Bin found him crying in the music room, and they bonded over their mutual homophobia, I guess. A strange thing to connect to someone with, but it happened, and thus their friendship started and mine and Jinny’s ended. I think Bin might have convinced him further of this fear with his own paranoia. I get it, I mean, _I don’t get it_ , but I do get it at the same time, you know?”

“That all changed, though, when Rocky came out. I guess that answers our earlier questions, yeah? About Sanha and him. Jinny didn’t say anything about them being together, and there was no way I was able to speak at this point. After he came out, which was a huge deal, because his best friends were supposed _homophobes_ , and I can’t imagine living with that, Minnie. They changed their act, they went to some sessions with the school councillor, and tried to get past it all.”

MJ scoffs venomously, “he said the reason he never said anything since, was because he thought he’d hurt me enough. He thought it best to just leave. He realises that now, silence was definitely not the best option. When you arrived, everything flared up again. He said he was jealous of _us_ , can you believe it?”

They double-backed the way they’d come, heading towards the distant hum of music. Dongmin’s mind was racing with all this new information, and he could feel a headache beginning to set in.

“Min?”

Dongmin lifted his eyes to the shorter boy beside him. “Yeah?”

They were out the front of the reception hall now, music much louder, bass thumping the ground where they stood. “He said,” his voice was small, too quiet. “He said that Bin knew nothing about the incident in the hallway.”

This left Dongmin speechless. Speechless in a way that he hadn’t experienced before, because it kind of confirmed his earlier suspicions. He’d feared, during the entire time MJ spoke, that Jin Jin had conjured up some elaborate lie to cover his tracks so he could snake himself back into MJ’s life. He was hesitant to believe any of it, because if he did, and then everything turned to shit, _both_ of them would be in the pits. _Again._

But then if this was true, it would explain Bin’s genuine confusion at Dongmin stopping his classroom rants and hallway waving. The look of hurt in his eyes may have been _genuine_ , and maybe, just maybe, Bin wasn’t so bad after all.

“I shouldn’t forgive him. I know I shouldn’t. And I didn’t accept it during our dance, either.” He stops now, looks at Dongmin with faint traces of optimist amidst all the wilting angst. “Maybe one day though. Maybe one day I could.”

Before Dongmin was able to say anything at all – unsure if he was going to support the statement, or reject it – Sanha burst through the doors with a giggly Minhyuk in tow. When he saw them, he lit up – more than he already was with the shorter boy holding his waist and nuzzling his neck with his nose.

“Min! MJ!”

They were both wrapped up into one armed hugs, and Min forgets all about Minhyuk and Jin Jin and Bin for a moment as he relishes the tall warmth around him. He really did love Sanha, felt protective over him, and he was amazed at the fondness that swelled in his chest even after knowing him for a few short weeks. It reminded him of his friendship with MJ. It had started from nothing and was now one of the closest relationships he’d ever had.

Sanha pulls away, and drags Minhyuk closer beside him so he wasn’t hidden behind his towering height. The fond look in Minhyuk eyes was quickly replaced with his own steaming batch of nerves, something that had been all-too familiar to Dongmin tonight. It felt awkward, standing like this with him, because all his earlier assumptions of the boy made no sense. He’d come out to his friends, friends who were meant to be so homophobic that they couldn’t stand the thought of it, but here he was, hands shaking and cheeks red.

“This is Minhyuk!” Sanha’s voice was loud and excited, and there was a touch of pride in the glint of his eyes. “I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen each other around, but Rock say’s you’ve never been introduced!”

 _Rock_ looks at Dongmin now, somewhat apologetically. It didn’t bother Dongmin though, that they’d never been introduced, for obvious reasons, but now nothing made sense. Nothing that had happened tonight made any sense, and Dongmin’s headache had fully arrived now.

“Minhyuk, this is Dongmin and MJ!”

Dongmin ponders for a moment. He wonders if the risk is worth it. Is politeness worth the chance that this whole thing was a total sham, a complete and utter lie formulated to expose Dongmin and MJ’s vulnerability? Bin and Jin Jin maybe, but Minhyuk? Minhyuk, who looked at Sanha like he was the literal sun, like he was his _life blood_? Dongmin thinks it’s impossible.

So, he sticks out his hand for Minhyuk to shake, and when he takes it, the grip is firm.

 

They don’t stay and chat for long, MJ and Dongmin telling Sanha that they were going to head home. The blonde pouts, pushing out his bottom lip so far that Dongmin could tell Minhyuk was tempted to kiss it. That was the thing though, Sanha hadn’t said anything about what he and Minhyuk _were._ Were they friends? They seemed touchier than friends, but that could very well have just been the way they were. Then there was the age difference, and the fact that Sanha was Bin’s brother now – did that not break the bro-code, or something?

They parted ways, MJ ducking out to the bathroom while Dongmin goes to collect his belongings from the storeroom. As he does so, he catches sight of the thinning crowd, of the newlyweds, and makes a mental note to write them a thank you card.

The night had been unbelievably eventful, even without the singing involved, and with the way Dongmin yawned every few seconds, his body was taking a toll because of it. As he closed up his bag, he heard the squeak of the storeroom door, and turned, expecting MJ. He was not expecting Bin.

He just _stood_ there, hands in his pockets, biting his bottom lip. He had a rosy flush on his cheeks that reminded him far too much of Christmas time, and the nostalgia he was feeling did nothing but infuriate him. But more than the fury, was confusion. God, he was so _confused,_ about nothing, but about everything, and he was seriously getting whiplash. It was driving him crazy – having all these answers but not to the questions he wanted.

He’s about to open his mouth, to speak, though he’s not sure what he was going to say, when Bin raises his hand, silencing him. “Please, don’t say anything. I want to say something for once.” It was a jab at Dongmin’s endless chatting during classes, and Bin’s lack of involvement. He wasn’t sure who the jab was meant for – Dongmin or himself – but it lacked poison, and the words didn’t sting.

Dongmin doesn’t know why he obeys Bin, but perhaps it’s bodily instinct, because his mouth clamps shut before he can realise what it’s doing. His mind replays MJ’s words from earlier, about getting to know Bin, the real him, and he decides to stay silent.

“I have been,” he starts, voice wobbly. “I have been the worst person. The _rudest_ person.” He steps a tiny bit closer, but Dongmin makes no attempt at moving just yet. “I wish I had said something to you. Those weeks ago, when you just wouldn’t _shut up_. I’d always get home and have a pounding headache because of you! To make things worse, it became some kind of addiction…and that day, you know, when you stopped talking to me? God, it was the worst day of my _life_ , Dongmin.”

Dongmin was about to have a heart attack. He thought he was confused before, but maybe he hadn’t been, because what he was feeling now was so much more intense.

“I wish, that day you came, I hadn’t been so damn nervous. I wish we could have been friends, things would have been so much easier.” He shuffles closer again, but Dongmin is stuck in concrete, and can’t move his own. Bin just keeps getting closer, and Dongmin can’t do anything about it.

“I mean, I don’t even know what we are now. Are we friends? Acquaintances? Enemies?” He closer again, now, Dongmin notices, and he hadn’t seen him stepping towards him, which makes him think that maybe _he_ was the one who moved.

This close up, Dongmin is again reminded of how flawless Bin’s skin was, how _beautiful_ , and he’s reminded of his pink his thin lips are. This crush was going to kill him, he was sure of it.

“God, Dongmin, I don’t want to be your enemy. I want to be your _friend._ I want to get to know you, and,” he stops, eyes shifty. “I want you to get to know _me_. The _real_ me – not this idea of me that I’ve put forth.”

He saw Bin reach out, and his breath caught in his throat. Suddenly, his shaking hand was in Bin’s, and the rapid movement stopped in time with his breathing. He lifted his hand now, flipped it over so his palm was flat against his. Dongmin drew in a lung-full of air, and when he released it, it was embarrassingly shaky. He knew it was coming, of course he was, he wasn’t stupid – but it shocked him nonetheless. The supple lips he’d been fantasising about for weeks pressed softly against his knuckles, and Dongmin couldn’t stop the fluttering in his stomach. It was one of the softest, more romantic gestures ever done for him, and his body was reacting because of it. He had goose bumps, and his face was red and the heat of his blush followed the line of his neck and stopped at his chest. The hand that was not in Bin’s was clammy and as wobbly as his breathing was, which only quickened when his hand was dropped, and Bin was halfway out the door.

The boy stopped, though, and poked his head back in. Dongmin knew he would have looked like a mess, unable to produce any words and thoughts. He did register Bin’s voice amidst the roar of his mind. A quiet, meaningful _your voice is beautiful, by the way_ , before the storeroom door shut behind him.

The place where Bin’s lips had been was on fire, and Dongmin reached up to touch at his closed eyelids, hoping his eyes were still there behind the thing stretch of skin. They were, and that made Bin’s heart race, because, because. _Because._

 

The thing about Moon Bin was that he looked at Dongmin the same way his Dad had looked at his bride. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! Come talk at [softsocky!](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)


	4. august - september

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe they were swimming, or drowning, or perhaps they were even flying. He doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he wants too – because this whole time he had been expecting the worst of people, of Bin, waiting for the moment that everything went wrong, and wasting so much of the good when it came by him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh my god here it is  
> as always, i avent proof read - i'll do it later lmao  
> you can listen to a playlist for this story [here](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/post/168999208389/the-thing-about-moon-bin-a-playlist)

Dongmin felt like he was seeing him for the first time.

Felt like the sun that had been constantly in his eyes had shifted, and the boy who had been made of shadow was now made of something a little brighter. Something that made a little more sense, something that actually fit the canvas. Beforehand, Dongmin wasn’t sure if Bin was too big for the frame, or too small – either way, he had spilt across the floor like dropped paint, a blurry mess of blue and violet and grey, but now there was a glorious white and a metallic glow surrounding everything and Dongmin felt his heart contract at the thought of everything that had happened. The boy he had seen back in his first week, back when he said nothing, eyes cold and empty and tongue vacant from his mouth. Back when words weren’t his forte, when their conversations were nothing more but a wistful dream Dongmin had hoped to fulfil. And then, there was whimsical music playing in the background, and the wedding that Dongmin had wished to avoid, had ended in such a way that he couldn’t quite grasp it. Felt like he was watching the paint spill again, watching it get on his shoes and the hem of his trousers, but instead of cursing and trying to wash all of it out, Dongmin ran his fingers through it, hoping to save as much of it as he could. Because somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew that whatever all this was – it wouldn’t _last._ It was a façade that Bin was using, he was sure of it. Because there was no way someone could change so drastically overnight; change from a silent man to someone who would never stop speaking, texting, _whatever_ this was called. Dongmin felt too comfortable with the communication, far too used to the lack thereof, and now, with all these feelings muddled and mushed up from the wedding, Dongmin didn’t know what to do with himself.

The texts had started the day after the wedding, the first having been sent to him while he was fast asleep. Dongmin and MJ had stumbled into the latter’s apartment in the early hours of the morning, when the sun was blinking hello over the skyscrapers of Seoul, when MJ’s Mum was already buzzing around getting ready for work. She had giggled and ran her comb through Dongmin’s hair, wrapped a slender arm around his shoulder and handed him a plate of pikelet’s. She pointed to the butter and the cream she had whipped on the bench, told him about the maple syrup in the pantry, before kissing her son good morning when all he had wanted was a good night. She had left through the front door as quietly as she could, knowing her husband was asleep. Dongmin had never felt so pleasant, so comfortable, like he did right now. And this comfort was unlike anything else he had ever felt. It was comfort in his own head, a serenity there that was unmatched. He thinks he’s maybe felt it before, too, but he can’t quite pinpoint when or where. Maybe somewhere in his childhood, memory too obscured by time for him to recall any proper images. Somewhere in his time before Seoul, somewhere when life wasn’t so muddy and cloudy and overcast.

That had all changed, though. _That had all changed_ the moment he walked into the lunch hall, MJ at his side, and his eyes fell on him again. For the first time since the wedding, he saw him – truly _saw_ him, without the persona and the façade and the stigma and the whatever damn else attached to him. The leeches of his reputation had been defeated with salt, had fallen from his body and now left pristine skin underneath. It had been tarnished beforehand, tarnished by Dongmin’s own ignorance, his own inability to separate fact from fiction, tarnished by MJ’s perspectives which were, in themselves, tarnished by Jin Jin’s own inability to see who he himself was. Everything in life, Dongmin realises, was a misinterpretation. Life itself was a misinterpretation. All of it, any of it, some of it, most of it – all of it, a diversion, a distraction, to distract you so much that when you feel what Dongmin feel’s now, you never miss it. It hit’s him now, this feeling, the feeling you don’t realise exists until it punches you square in the face.

And this feeling? There’s no name for it. Dongmin knows this isn’t love, he knows it to be much more than admiration and general friendship. He knows it to be more than anything he’s ever felt before, more than he thought he possibly deserved. And never once did he think that when he looked at Moon Bin, he’d be feeling it.  
He didn’t know what _it_ was, but he liked it. He just didn’t plan on telling Moon Bin that anytime soon.

 

The same morning that they ate their pikelets and then fell into bed, Bin had, unbeknownst to him, composed a series of text messages to send through to him. Though, he had only decided upon sending one. It was a short, but heart-warming, thing to wake up to – which had been, unsurprisingly, three o’clock that afternoon. At first, Dongmin had stared at it blearily through half-opened eyes, trying to connect the context to the words, the name which didn’t, at first, register with him. The number was unknown and not in his contact list, so the string of numbers at the top of the screen didn’t help in his quest of discovery.

_Hey Dongmin, this is Moon Bin. Just making sure you got home alright from the wedding. It was nice getting to talk to you._

Dongmin’s mouth was dry from sleep, and his stomach was churning at though he had a hangover – impossible, really, considering he’d barely drunk enough turn a baby tipsy. He put it down to the fact that it had been Moon Bin texting him. As if on que, though, his phone vibrated in his hand alongside a little ding, which made MJ groan into the sheets beside him.

_I got your number from Sanha, by the way._

Dongmin chuckled, shoving the smaller boy away from his neck when his breathing began to tickle him. Dongmin knew his cheeks were flushed a deep, burning red, and he _knew_ he was doing that thing he did when he bit in his lip to avoid smiling too much. Even a barely conscious MJ – who still had his eyes closed – could tell he was doing it, though.

“Who in the _hell_ would be texting you,” he said, voice thick with sleep, “and why are you so happy about it?”

Dongmin breathed out through his nose, the giddiness of receiving texts from Bin evolving into something a little more terrifying, wondering why the boy had even _cared._ He remembered, then – though it was unlikely he never really forgot – about the conversation Bin and he’d had at the wedding. Bin declaring that he wanted Dongmin to know the real him, not the him that had been transplanted in his mind.

Dongmin hastily wrote out a reply, then deleted it, second-guessing himself. He pushed his lips out to the side in contemplation, then retyped his original message, adding a smiley face at the end for good measure.

_Home fine. Thanks Bin. I liked our talk, too (:_

He hesitated a little after hitting send, because it felt rushed and a little blunt, and maybe a little less accommodating than he had hoped. But he forced himself not to dwell on it, set his phone to silent before easing his way off MJ’s bed. He grabbed his designated towel off the back of MJ’s door, threw the other – MJ’s – at the sleeping boy on the bed, and slipped towards the bathroom. He didn’t check his phone for the rest of the afternoon, let his phone remain motionless on MJ’s bedside table until well after midnight, when the two of them were curled in on each other on the couch. When Dongmin looked, he was surprised to see just one text. It was shorter than the first two, though it made Dongmin blush more. Dongmin supposed that this was his first step, his first attempt at erasing the image Dongmin had of him in his mind. As much as it pained Dongmin to admit it, he really didn’t mind.

_You have a beautiful voice._

And so, the texting had continued. The conversations – though short and mindless – were often the highlights of Dongmin’s final days of break. MJ thought it was ridiculous that his mindset had changed so quickly – something he felt bad about instantly after mentioning, because Dongmin’s eyes had started welling up due to his own betrayal.

MJ shushed him, proclaiming he had been joking, joking the whole time, and that in fact, he was still happy Dongmin was being so open minded. MJ had said so at the wedding, after dancing with Jin Jin, that maybe the two of them should change their minds about the boys, considering that time did change things, and life was a bitch sometimes. Dongmin had agreed, of course, and to some extent, he knew he _had_ – because here was, texting Bin _back_ , answering his silly questions about his favourite colour and favourite band and the materialist things he couldn’t live without. But, at the same time, Dongmin was hesitant. Hesitant because underneath it all, Dongmin was just another shy high school boy with a crush on a boy who held his heart in his hand. And Dongmin knew that Bin could destroy it with just one look.

 

But still, despite the brief communication by text, Dongmin hadn’t expected himself to react quite like this. He felt like his chest was contracting violently, his breath caught in the back of his throat, tongue sitting heavy and numb in his mouth. He felt paralysed and full of energy at the exact same time, and he didn’t know if he wanted to scream or fall backwards to the ground. While there was lethargy, there was also adrenaline; but it didn’t last long when Dongmin realised where Bin was sitting.

Dongmin hadn’t been living in Seoul long enough to know the rules regarding undesignated designated seating, but had this been back in his home town, shit would have gone _down._ It was common knowledge that if you were to sit in the same spot for five or more consecutive days, that said spot was _yours_. Thus, should anyone take it, it was a declaration of war. So, Dongmin assumed a little that this rule applied everywhere, and judging by MJ’s expression, it applied here just the same. Therefore, Dongmin didn’t quite understand why Bin was sitting at _their_ table, when he quite clearly said a few days ago that he wanted them to be friends. Why would Bin declare war if he wanted them to be closer?

Dongmin felt momentarily consumed by confusion, and, much to his surprise, disappointment. Because all of a sudden, he felt cast aside, meaningless amongst all this meaning, and the only thing truly running through his mind was _where are we going to sit?_ Taking their table wasn’t an option, because that in itself was a death wish. But said table was now empty, looking as rejected as Dongmin now felt. Minhyuk and Jin Jin were sitting with Bin at their table, too, and none of them had seen them enter the lunch hall yet. Dongmin flickered his eyes to MJ beside him, tilted them down a little, trying to grasp the reality of the situation in the shorter’s eyes. But they stared back at him as clueless as his own. So, Dongmin, for once, acted upon instinct, and did what no sane person would surely do in the high school food chain: Dongmin dragged MJ to Bin’s old table. He had every intention of sitting there, spreading his belongings across the graffiti-covered tabletop, lazily eat his lunch and drink his soda. He was going to do _just that_ , already halfway to the table, hand outstretched and ready to pull out Bin’s old chair, when he heard the scraping of another, coming from behind him. It was too loud and too close to not be their old table, the one that was now far-too occupied, so Dongmin allowed himself to sink into brief hesitation.

Someone cleared their throat behind them. It wasn’t one of necessity, but it wasn’t done rudely, either. Merely an act of attention, because apparently _excuse me_ wasn’t an option anymore. Dongmin gripped the bottom of his food tray in his hand a little bit tighter, hearing it crack the tiniest bit, before he turned to face the culprit. In his turn, he caught eyes with MJ for a brief moment, who turned with him, and his face seemed both panicky and angst-y, and Dongmin couldn’t decide which one was winning. 

Dongmin had expected Bin to be standing there, or even Jin Jin. He hadn’t expected Minhyuk, though, small and yet bold in his skin, hands a little shaky as he regarded them now. “Uh,” he said, voice huskier and a little deeper than Dongmin had recalled from the wedding. So much so, that Dongmin questions whether or not the boy was sick, but pushed it aside, because why did it matter? “We were wondering if you would like to sit with us today?”

Dongmin drew his head back, just slightly, but enough for Minhyuk to grin weakly. Minhyuk, it seemed, knew the awkwardness of the entire situation in itself, considering what last semester had brought. Though, to be fair, Minhyuk hadn’t done any personal harm – verbally or otherwise – to either of them. He had just watched on, especially in the earlier days, well before Dongmin had arrived in Seoul, and had somewhat attempted to make MJ’s life a living hell. That was before Minhyuk had told Bin and Jin Jin he was gay though, and thinking that now, all Dongmin could see was a soft boy who was tortured by his own inner demons. Dongmin felt _pity_ , because he himself knew that feeling, that terror that ate away at his sanity each time he felt a little fuzzy when a boy looked at him a little differently to how they looked at girls. He remembers that, he remembered overcoming it, too, but his family was a tight-knit support group, and perhaps Minhyuk didn’t have that. Maybe, just maybe, Sanha was going to be that. Jin Jin and Bin could be that. One day even, if all things went well, maybe he and MJ could be, too. But that was a time far from now, a whole other world away, and MJ and Dongmin were staring at him, quietly, open-mouthed, and a largely taken aback.

“Um.” That was MJ’s voice. Dongmin’s brain knew it well enough to pinpoint that exactly, but it took a second longer for Dongmin to register the meaning of it all in his head. MJ was stuttering, he didn’t know what to say, and he was probably waiting for the more eloquent and more socially-adept Dongmin to say something for him. But Dongmin’s tongue still felt heavy in his mouth from earlier, and his hand was itching towards the left pocket of his uniform pants, where his phone sat, where he was sure a text from Bin sat, unopened and very much unanswered.

“Um.” MJ again, louder this time, a little clearer. The fog in MJ’s headspace seemed to be dissipating, quicker than Dongmin had expected, but not fast enough, because Minhyuk looked at the two of them as though they were crazy. Perhaps they were. But if they were, then the three of them were crazier.

Dongmin didn’t know where the voice came from – at first, hadn’t even been sure it was his own – but it hung in the air like the unanswered question Minhyuk had thrown their way, and Dongmin couldn’t figure out if it was awkward or tense or anything in between. “Okay.”

And so, Minhyuk had simply nodded once, and pivoted on his heel with a finesse Dongmin envied, something he’d seen a video somewhere once, perhaps ballet, and it was a move that implied the two of them would follow to their table. Dongmin wanted to point out to Minhyuk that if they were being technical, it was them that would be eating lunch with _them_ – because it was their table, and the invite implied otherwise. But Dongmin didn’t want to argue, not about this, not something as little as this. Not when half the lunch room were staring at them as they walked the short distance from one table to the other. Not when Dongmin only cared for one pair of those staring eyes.

It was tense, the moment they got to the table, because of course, it was. Two groups such as these don’t often merge, they weren’t two allied corporations – they were enemies, or supposed to be. To the student body they were, at least. Especially Jin Jin and MJ. That status has simply rolled over to Dongmin the moment they became friends, not that Dongmin had minded at first, per se, but _now._ Now things were different. Different in more ways than one. The obvious being the fact that Dongmin and Bin texted now. That Jin Jin had proclaimed his love for MJ, no matter how fake and artificial that love may actually be, and he was trying to reconcile. That Minhyuk wasn’t in denial about his sexuality but also wasn’t that open with it, either, and amongst it all, he had asked the two of them wanted to sit with them. That was one of the biggest changes, and it had only happened in the space of five minutes. The whiplash Dongmin had felt at the wedding didn’t even compare to what he felt now.

When they reached the table – after what felt like a lifetime in itself – Dongmin didn’t meet Bin’s eyes. Minhyuk sat at the head of the table, one leg propped under him, the other kicking along the linoleum. Jin Jin sat to right, head leaning into his palm, eyes locked on MJ – fond, Dongmin noted – who stood shakily beside him. And then _Bin_. Bin, who had said nothing in greeting, was sitting opposite Jin Jin, to Minhyuk’s left. The seating arrangement left Dongmin’s stomach in knots, because that meant deciding where he was to sit, and unfortunately for him, it was fairly obvious. MJ would sit beside Jin Jin, himself beside Bin. And, even more so, this wasn’t a romance movie, so there wasn’t going to be anyone to stroll up and save them from this tension. So, Dongmin moved when MJ moved, which was _now._ MJ dragged the chair out from beside Jin Jin with a heavy sigh, and Dongmin scrambled to the other side of the table to do the same.

They sat at the same time, like some kind of royal dinner, and stared at each other before looking down at their trays simultaneously. Then, the chatter began. It was as if they weren’t even there. Or rather, had never not been there. Minhyuk started rambling about the upcoming basketball season, about how his training was going to be getting hectic again, and how he’d ordered new shoes from that site Bin had recommended. Dongmin listened, put forth no input, but listened eagerly, trying to grasp a proper understanding of the boys he now sat with. He could still feel the lingering gazes of curiosity from the students around him, but with the others talking and food now in his hands, it was easier to ignore. Jin Jin was now laughing at something Minhyuk said about the team, who said something sarcastic back. Dongmin could feel the smooth vibrations of Bin’s laughter, and when the dark-haired boy threw his head back, their legs touched. Dongmin felt a zing of electricity, just like the movies, but maybe it was all in his head, because Bin hadn’t even reacted. Minhyuk’s chatter died down and transitioned over to Jin Jin, who spoke of a horror film he’d watched recently – he spoke too quick for Dongmin to catch the name, but it was a foreign film, one with very basic Korean subtitles, but he said he’d enjoyed it nonetheless. Something about twin brothers and an intruder posing as their mother, and a plot twist that sent him reeling and twisting and turning in his bed that night, unable to sleep through the darkness. Bin, though, wasn’t overly chatty. He said a few bits and pieces, but nothing substantial enough for Dongmin to pain a proper picture – good or bad. So, everything felt sort of neutral with him, which Dongmin accepted wholeheartedly, because _nothing_ was better than something _bad_.

The mindless chatter continued as the five of them ate at their food. Dongmin started feel his shoulders start to sag as the tension in them loosened, and MJ looked the same. Jin Jin had turned his body towards him more, and their conversation was low and between the two of them, and Jin Jin looked so incredibly fond and MJ so red that Dongmin couldn’t look away quick enough. Dongmin liked redemption, he did, really – but this didn’t seem right. He didn’t understand how Jin Jin’s entire attitude could change _just like that_ and it was terrifying for Dongmin. Because he had grown to expect the absolute worst from these boys, had seen what Jin Jin had done to MJ, and now he was expected to forget all of it? It was unlikely to happen any time soon, no matter how redeeming the boy may act.

Bin’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts, then, and the tops of his ears turned red. “Rock, are you free tomorrow?”

Minhyuk slowed his chewing, narrowing his eyes at the boy beside him. “Why?”

Bin shrugged, “I have my recital rehearsal tomorrow, and Mum asked if you’d come and mind Sanha.” Dongmin finds himself smiling at Bin’s mention of _Mum_ , knowing full well that he was referring to his step mum. That woman really had raised him, dragged him out of his biological mother’s evil grasp, and set him free. Dongmin was, once again, silently grateful.

Minhyuk had turned a deep crimson, tucked his chin cutely, and Dongmin wanted to coo at him. He was far too cute, his crush on Sanha way too obvious, and Bin knew it, too, judging by the coy smirk and glint in his eyes. “He’s sixteen. He doesn’t need a babysitter anymore.”

Bin shrugged again. “ _I_ know that. _Dad_ knows that. _Mum_ doesn’t _care_ about that. You know what she’s like. She’s overly protective, and still thinks Sanha is twelve years old. Will you do it?” Bin took a bite of his meal, and Dongmin caught the quick flick of his eyes thrown his way, the humorous glint there. Dongmin hid his smile in a mouthful of food.

He heard Minhyuk sigh, trying to convince all of them that it was actually a bother – but the flush high on his cheekbones, still on his ears, creeping down his neck, sure said otherwise. “Yeah, whatever. What time do I need to be there?”

“Just come to mine after school. I’m heading there around six. Mum and Dad’ll be home around midnight.” He swallowed around his food, “some work thing,” he added, with a flick of his hand in Minhyuk’s direction. Minhyuk nodded, trying to stay cool, but terrible at remaining so.

“Sanha’s really into fresh flowers at the moment, by the way. Big thing for lillies.” Bin’s voice was edging too far this side of obvious, but Minhyuk was the most clueless person Dongmin had ever met, so he didn’t quite grasp what Bin was saying.

“Okay. So?”

Bin shrugged – a terrible habit, it seemed – and took another mouthful. “Just thought you’d be interested. I don’t know.”

Minhyuk was so red, so close to exploding, almost, and Dongmin took pity on the poor boy. So much so, that he was surprised to hear his own voice pike up into conversation. “Where is Sanha, by the way?”

Bin tensed a little by his side, then relaxed. Just as he was about to speak, Minhyuk cut in. “Library.”

Dongmin looked to Bin, expectant. “He’s at the library on the first day back?”

Bin chuckled, smiling down at Dongmin a little. “Horrible line up of teachers, unlucky little shit. Already set them a group project due by Friday morning. His partner’s pretty strict, too, straight-A girl. Doesn’t trust him and wants to get it done as soon as possible.”

Their gazes held for a little longer than what was probably acceptable, and Dongmin didn’t miss the awkward cough that MJ threw their way, either. He dragged his eyes away, albeit reluctantly, and finished his lunch without saying anything more.

 

And so, it became a _thing._

Dongmin and MJ would walk into the lunch hall and would sit themselves down with the three boys they’re supposed to hate, and they’d chat and bicker and tease each other as if they’d been best friends for years. Dongmin and MJ didn’t say as much as they would have if it had just been the two of them, but they had walls up, rightfully so, and Dongmin knew it would take a bit more than a few lunches and jokes to pull those walls down. But he was willing. He _was_ , truthfully. He wasn’t _all in_ , but he was _mostly_ in. _In_ _enough_ that effort could be noticed, that Bin would see that there was some trust there, and that he was willing to take that step towards friendship like he had wanted. It was just harder than Dongmin had thought; required more self-restraint that he had ever believed, because all he wanted to do was dive right into Bin, open his whole life to the boy. But he knew better. The logical part of his brain could scream louder than his heart at this point, and for once, Dongmin hated it.

He wished he could just _relax_ , take in the whole experience, start afresh and with a clean palate. But life didn’t really work that way, no matter how much Dongmin pushed it to. So, he’d have to do it the old-fashioned way. He’d have to let Bin’s – hopefully – good intentions work their magic, so that his mind would be as convinced as his heart already was.

Their texting – though less frequent now that they spoke in class and at lunch – continued. Usually just a _good morning_ or _good night_ , or the occasional question about chemistry homework, Dongmin knew not to expect much, but he still reacted as though the boy had asked for his hand in marriage. He’d read the messages as he lay in bed, ignoring the constant yells from his parents down the hall telling him he was going to be late if he didn’t get moving. He squirms and squeals and shakes a little underneath his blankets, before daydreaming in the shower, in the kitchen where he’d more often than not spill his coffee down the front of his shirt. And it was so silly, too, because their conversations in person were more meaningful than any of their texts, but it was a reminder that Bin thought of him first thing in the morning; at night, when the clouds pulled tight across the night sky, covering all the stars like his blanket to his body. Bin thought of Dongmin, and maybe, just maybe, Bin thought of Dongmin just as much as Dongmin thought of him.

He hoped so – at least, his _heart_ did. His logic still slapped him ‘round a little.

It was inevitable for rumours to spread. Dongmin wasn’t well known, per se, but feud between the two small groups _was_. People had certainly noticed the shift from enemies to friends, and though they all knew better than to question it, it was impossible to ignore the curious glances that were endlessly thrown their way. These glances had started that very first day back at school, in the lunch room, but had bled out into the halls and into classrooms and into those brief little moments where Bin would wave or smile to Dongmin in the corridors or in the tiny spaces between the classes they didn’t share.

These same rumours extended to MJ and Jin Jin, too. Most students knew that they had been best friends before MJ had come out, and whilst a number of them found it repulsive that Jin Jin had shunned his friend for such a confession, many others never made any public comments about. Dongmin didn’t know if that was because of the media climate surrounding same-sex relationships in Korea, or if it was maybe the high school food chain working its magic, or people just minding their own business – but whatever it was, MJ had most definitely noticed it, which meant Jin Jin had, too. This wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, given the circumstances, but for Jin Jin it very well could have been. It had only been a few days – _it was only Thursday –_ but Jin Jin had already seemed a little more distant, just a smidge, and the nauseating feeling of betrayal and regret seized itself in Dongmin’s gut like dry concrete. It wasn’t enough to weigh him down entirely though, because Jin Jin still waved to MJ like Bin did to him; still spoke to him at any possible moments, and had, much to Dongmin’s surprise, started texting MJ non-cryptic messages. These messages were sounding a lot like Bin’s to Dongmin – just tiny greetings, the occasional joke, or link to a silly video he’d seen that reminded him of MJ.

It was these tiny little things, Dongmin realised, that really made up a person. The tiny acts of kindness amidst the mountains of bad – the good choices, the bad ones that were laced with good intentions, they all accumulated into something meaning a whole lot more. It was just disappointing that sometimes the good was lost on the other side of this Mount Bad, and made it nearly impossible to get to the other side. And while you may have a grappling hook and rope and be able to climb your way up and over, at some point you’re going to face challenges. At some point, you’re going to run out of rope.

Dongmin waited – not all that patiently – for their rope to run out.

 

Dongmin hadn’t seen Sanha all week, so to see the boy heading his way Friday afternoon, Dongmin was more than overjoyed. Sanha collided with his body, arms wrapping around each other in their reunion. When they separated, he moved onto MJ next. The two of them had been texting, of course, but Sanha was younger, which meant no shared classes, and his lunch time was spent finishing the assignment in the library. The assignment which, if Dongmin remembers correctly, was due today – which meant Sanha was free for the weekend. It seemed Sanha had the same train of thought, because he slinked his arms through theirs, declaring that they were coming home with him to watch movies and order takeaways. He said they could crash on his bed and on the couch, and when they said they didn’t have a change of clothes or any toiletries, Sanha announced he had those, too.

Dongmin missed the boy; so much so that he didn’t protest farther, simply sent through a text to his Mum saying he’d be staying with Sanha. She replied straight away, a thumb up emoticon, followed by an _I love you_. Dongmin shot the same thing back, tucking his phone away into his trousers.

When they got to his place, they kicked off their shoes and shucked off their blazers, and loosened their ties enough to pull them off from around their necks. Dongmin felt comfortable at Sanha’s – he’d been there enough to know his way round, to know that he could grab whatever he wanted from the kitchen without having to seek permission first. After placing his drinking glass in the dishwasher, he straightened back up – and jumped halfway into the air. Bin, who stood silently in the entryway of the kitchen, snorted.

“Hey Dongmin.”

Dongmin huffed, crossing his arms across his body self-consciously. “You scared me.”

Bin smirked, stepping out of the doorway and leaning himself against the kitchen bench. Across from him now, Dongmin was able to watch a bead of sweat draw a line from his hairline down to his chin, where it dropped off onto the tiles. They hadn’t taken the bus home together, something Dongmin had found strange at the time. When he questioned it, Sanha merely shrugged – sometimes Jin Jin brought his car to school, and on those days, the three friends would get frozen snacks before Jin Jin dropped everyone home. Dongmin couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit disappointed at this piece of news, because although he was excited to spend time with _his_ friends, he wanted to see more of Bin too. It was selfish, actually, and undeniably greedy – but at least he was _admitting_ it, accepting it. What he wasn’t accepting, though, was the way his body was reacting to seeing a sweaty Bin. His heart race was increasing, something that happened around the boy – sweaty or not – and his throat felt scratchy and dry. But Bin was polite enough not to mention it. That, or he was very unobservant.

“I noticed,” he said, sounding a little breathless.  

 Dongmin swallowed, drawing his eyes away and proceeding to close the dishwasher door. He could feel and hear Bin moving around the kitchen behind him, opening and closing cupboard doors, filling his cup with cold water from the fridge.

A thought occurred to him then. He breathed in a little more than normal, puffed his chets out the tiniest bit, all in the hope of looking contained and confident when he turned to face Bin. “How did your rehearsal go?”

Bin hummed around the lip of his mug, downing the last drop of water before replying. “It was good, I think. Good as it’s going to get now anyway.”

Dongmin nodded, reminding himself to look cool as he leant against the bench opposite Bin. “When is it? The performance, I mean.”

Bin smirked, said “ _tonight_ ,” before turning towards the fridge again.

Dongmin paled. “Oh, _Bin_.”

The boy in questioned raised an eyebrow at him, “what?”

Dongmin forced himself to ignore the bobbing of his Adam’s apple as he drank his refill of water. “I’m sorry. I mean – I would have come if I’d known.”

“You would have?” Bin’s voice sounded as shocked as Dongmin’s inner monologue did. _Would he have_? Of course, he would have. They were _friends_ now, or at least they were trying to be. And that’s what friends did – they go and support their friend’s achievements and performances and whatever else, and if Dongmin had known, he would have been right there alongside Minhyuk and Jin Jin, cheering just as loudly and just as brightly. Because he did care. He really did. More than just because he was a pretty face and mutual friends, but because he radiated both confidence and modesty, and somehow managed to remain elusive despite it all. His logic was screaming at him again – of course it was, that was nothing new – but he was letting his heart speak this time. Dongmin felt disappointed at being unable to go support his new friend, or pre-friend, or ‘getting there’ friend. He had already promised himself to Sanha and MJ tonight – a horror movie marathon, one they had talked about for days during the wedding period – and once Sanha had a plan in his head, it was very difficult to get him to change it.

Bin’s small and toothless smile tugged him back into reality, and Dongmin shrugged, resuming the conversation as if he hadn’t just lost himself. “Of course, I would have come.” He took Bin’s empty glass from his hand, refilled it a third time, and handed it back. “We’re friends now. Right?”

Bin grasps the glass in both of his hands, as if he was afraid of it slipping between his shaky fingers. Dongmin noticed the slight movement, and smiled to himself. “Right,” Bin said, voice a little numb and wispy.

“Right then. I’ll be at the next one?”

Bin nodded, smiling back at him, red cheeks to match his own. Dongmin pushed off the bench, eyes on the doorway to the living room, where Sanha and MJ could be heard chattering loudly. Amongst the chatter there was the occasional squeal from Sanha, which caused Dongmin to jump the slightest bit when it went a few octaves higher than he expected.

“I’d better get back,” he said, directing with his head to the room in question.

Bin nodded, “me, too. I mean – I’ve got to get ready for tonight.”

They parted ways in the kitchen – Bin, back the way he had come, and Dongmin, out the other door towards his friends. Just as he was almost out of sight, he ducked back around. “See you later, friend!” Had Dongmin stayed in the kitchen for the tiniest second longer, he would have seen Bin’s dorky stumble, would have seen – and not just _heard_ – the thump of his body hitting the wall and he made his way up to the bathroom. Dongmin smirked and shook his head, eyes fixed on the floor, before he swallowed down his butterflies and entered the living room.

 

Bin had ducked out an hour later, with a wave in their direction as he hurried down the stairs to the tooting car. They were part-way through one of their horror movies – the one that Jin Jin had talked about at the lunch table that time, with the twin boys and the imposter mother. Dongmin was generally alright with these types of films, enjoying the prickle of anticipation on the back of his neck, the tickle in his chest. This film, though he would admit was getting to him. Maybe it was the badly-translated Korean subtitles overlapping the Spanish dialogue, or the noir style of it all; whatever it was, Dongmin was jumping, though not as much as Sanha and MJ. Sanha and MJ _jumped_ , but they also _screamed_. And it made Dongmin chuckle endlessly, seeing two people so desperate to watch these movies, lean back in fear and cover their faces. When the final credits rolled, Dongmin was more than confused – but Sanha and MJ more so, who had cowered behind their hands and hadn’t even seen the ending.

Dongmin had taken the time to think about the possibility of telling Sanha how Bin and Jin Jin had treated MJ and himself respectively, but whenever the idea crossed his mind, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. A part of him detested the idea of ruining the image Sanha had of the three boys in his boys, especially _Minhyuk_ , who, for all Dongmin knew, was someone Sanha looked up to, and admired, and even probably more than that. It’s like that with Bin, too. Sanha had just legally gotten a new brother, and Dongmin didn’t want to be responsible for that relationship suffering. Sanha needed that support group, the support that Bin could offer him inside and outside of school – so both Dongmin and MJ had decided to keep Sanha in the dark. For now, at least.

But looking at the boy now, who was changing over the disc in the DVD player, grinning widely at something MJ had said – Dongmin felt _bad._ He felt like he was, once again, betraying a dear friend. First, MJ, and now Sanha – and both of whom had some connection to Bin himself. It was an endless cycle, it seemed. Wherever _Moon Bin_ was involved in his life, betrayal followed. And no matter how much his heart and his logic battled, he knew at the end of the day, logic would probably always win. But for now, he let his heart soar for a little longer, swallowed down that betrayal, and sunk further into the couch cushions while the opening credits for the next horror rolled.

 

MJ and Dongmin – though hanging out just as much as before – hadn’t spoken much of the friendship progression with bin and Jin Jin. Sure, all things considered, it was going _well._ Dongmin couldn’t deny that Jin Jin was hilarious, a comedic genius, even. Bin, himself, was funny – but more in the way that it was unintentional humour, or in the form of _sometimes_ undetectable sarcasm. There was always chortling laughter emitting from their lunch table. MJ’s usual loud, head-thrown-back, hands-clapping, laugh was the loudest; drew the most attention from other students. Minhyuk’s laugh was a quiet, under-his-breath kind of laugh, often paired with a look of utter disappointment at his friends; and, almost one hundred percent of the time, followed by an eye-roll. Jin Jin’s laugh was a squeeze-your-eyes-closed laugh, where something was funny enough that all the muscles in his face contracted all at once, tensed and pulled and yanked, so his mouth was left wide open and howling, but his eyes pulled tightly shut, and his hands balled into fists against his chest. Bin’s laugh was different in itself – it was mostly silent, mouth-open and breathy and made up of all gasps and gentle lisps. But then, if something were particularly hilarious, his laugh would match that of Jin Jin’s, just a few octaves higher. Dongmin’s own laugh, though, resembled that of MJ’s when they were alone – but at the lunch table, he muffled his laugh in the palm of his hand, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. Forcing himself to not fall too deeply into their humour, too deeply into their _kindness._ Because that’s what they were, at this point. Started anew, and the boys were suddenly undeniably kind and friendly and heart-warming. They were thoughtful and mindful and had heated discussions about politics and activism, and they were so _intelligent,_ too. Their conversations weren’t full of wasted words. Every sentence – bar Jin Jin, with his Dad jokes input – held some significant meaning, which drew Dongmin in, kept him captive there. MJ and Dongmin had gained some confidence, too, and had even begun to contribute more actively in these debates. They all shared the same political viewpoints, though Dongmin found it very obvious how the topic of same-sex relationships, marriage, and general rights, were blatantly avoided. But, to be fair, he didn’t bring it up either. It felt like this taboo that no one wanted to speak of, especially over lunch, especially when the topic itself was so unclear in the group. Dongmin knew that Minhyuk was gay, yes, and that Jin Jin possibly was, and everyone knew MJ was, too. But still, it hung above them like a weapon – ready to fall and kill at any moment. So, they avoided that, too.

Dongmin was still thinking about it hours later, _three movies later,_ when he heard a rumbling in the driveway. He was still thinking about it when the rumbling stopped, when he heard the dull thump of music switch entirely off into the dark night, the sound of the car being locked. He made a quick mental note to talk to MJ about the Jin Jin situation over coffee tomorrow, when they left Sanha’s and no doubt retired to his place. He looked at his friends now, on the couch opposite him, and despite the screams and blood curdling on the screen, they were both fast asleep. They had lazily draped a blanket over themselves, and used each other as makeshift pillows – MJ’s head was resting in Sanha’s lap, with the latter resting at an awkward angle against the armrest. Dongmin felt somewhat guilty having the large couch to himself, but they obviously hadn’t minded, considering they were fast asleep now.

He heard the jiggling of keys, loud voices trying to be quiet, and he’d known Bin and his friends long enough to know that it was them. It was two o’clock in the morning, their parents long gone to bed, and Bin was only making his way home now from his recital. Dongmin didn’t know much about dance, or the recitals that went along with it, but he knew enough about the industry to know that they never went for that long, especially not for a high schooler.  

The front door swings open, hitting the wall – something they clearly had no intention of doing, judging by the increase in the ‘whispering’ from the entryway. Dongmin leant back on the couch, so he could see the three wobbly bodies close the door behind them, quietly this time, and make their way inside. Dongmin didn’t need to smell the alcohol on them to know they were drunk; the way they walked and giggled was enough of an indication. Dongmin giggled himself now, behind his hand like he did at the lunch table, because Bin had smacked his hand on the windowsill, and was making artificial sobbing noises while Minhyuk blew him air kisses. Dongmin doesn’t know how they gained access to their celebratory drinks – Dongmin finds that he doesn’t really care, either – he just hopes his parents don’t find them like this, because he’s not entirely sure that they’d be supportive of it.

It was at that moment, though, that the three of them saw Dongmin staring. Jin Jin started laughing, thankfully quietly, made up of drunken whispers. Minhyuk just stared past him, eyes a little wide, hands a little shaky, because it was undeniable that Sanha was unbearably cute whilst sleeping. Dongmin hadn’t even needed to follow Minhyuk’s gaze to know that Sanha was his target. Bin was staring at him, though, much to Dongmin’s delight. Even in the faint light of the television – which flickered from light to dark fairly often – it was easy to see the flush on his cheeks, high on the ridge of his cheekbones.

 “Sorry,” Dongmin found himself saying, though he wasn’t sure _why._ “They’re asleep.”

He was stating the obvious, because _duh,_ they were looking at the two sleeping boys. But still, all three pairs of eyes softened. In the next moment, both Minhyuk and Jin Jin were shifting forwards, drunkenness erased from their steps. One minute, they were barley standing straight, and in the next, Minhyuk was hooking his arms underneath Sanha’s body, and hauling him up into his arms. Jin Jin did the same with MJ, carrying him bridal style, and it reminded him far too much of novels and books and even _comics_ he’d read, and he knew MJ would cringe and blush in the morning when Dongmin told him. Despite Sanha being taller, Minhyuk had picked Sanha up easily – as if he weighed nothing at all. Dongmin expected as much though, considering the amount of muscle he had packed into his small petite body. Jin Jin though, he was the same height and stature as MJ, and yet the way he carried MJ down the hall to Sanha’s room was done with some kind of practiced ease. Dongmin was impressed, to say the least, but then a sickening thought occurred to him. It was so easy for Jin Jin – looked so _familiar_ for him to do _,_ because it _was._ He often forgets how close the two actually were before everything fell to pieces between them. He forgets that they had been best friends for years, sharing secrets and stories and even kisses, so it would be fair to assume that Jin Jin had carried a sleepy MJ before.

Dongmin stood back, but followed the two of them down the hall. They didn’t say where they were taking them – didn’t say they were taking them _at all_ – but Dongmin knew the layout of the property well enough to know that the location they were going was Sanha’s bedroom. They hadn’t really talked about where they would sleep, but Sanha’s queen sized bed implied they’d be sharing there, with maybe one of them on the couch. It seemed Minhyuk and Jin Jin thought the same thing, too. Bin walked silently beside Dongmin, a little shaky on his steps, occasionally hearing the slightly shorter boy’s hand graze along the wall in order to steady himself. Acting on instinct, Dongmin threaded his arm through Bin’s, holding him upright. He ignored the heat on his cheeks, the eyes he could now feel on his face.

Instead, he focused on the way Bin tightened the loop of his arm, so that they were closer together, and on opening Sanha’s bedroom door wider for the two boys to carry them through.

It was all very cliché, Dongmin thought, the way Minhyuk carried Sanha like he was a precious artefact. On the journey, Sanha had woken up the tiniest bit – that foggy state of being awake and yet still asleep, the confusing sort of fever-like sweat on your forehead when you’re not sure if it’s a dream or your reality. Sanha had whimpered a little, too, a quiet, delicate little sound, and his hand had wrapped itself in the collar of Minhyuk’s t-shirt. Minhyuk chuckled into Sanha’s hair, where it was tucked into the curve of his neck. Sanha mewled as he was placed on the bed, closest to the wall, the taller boy’s legs sprawled out on top of the sheets. Dongmin notices how his eyes are closed again, but his fingers are still wrapped tightly in the elder’s shirt. His fingers were clenched so tightly, that the knuckles had turned white, and they were tugging insistently. Minkyuk just kept chuckling, and Dongmin didn’t know if it was because of the alcohol, or because he was embarrassed. Perhaps it was both, judging by the pink flush on his cheeks.

“’Ocky.” Sanha’s voice was slurred and partly muffled from the bedding, almost as if he himself were drunk, and not Minhyuk. “’Ocky,” he tried again, louder this time, mouth not full of feather-down pillow.

“Yes, Sanha?” Minhyuk ran his hand across Sanha’s forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes. It was a habit Sanha himself had, and Dongmin had witnessed recently. Dongmin’s chest felt like it was pinching, and he realised it was because the scene before him was unbearably tender and _cute_.

Sanha whined again, high and cracking a little at the end. “Lie with me!” He dragged out the ‘e’, whining with his words now, and he sounded much younger than he actually was.

Dongmin watched Minhyuk’s behaviour get a little sloppy, as if he was either caving, or extremely embarrassed. It would make sense to the latter, because Jin Jin was still holding MJ off to the side – albeit, still comfortably – waiting for Minhyuk to move so he could lay him down. Minhyuk wasn’t going to reply, Dongmin realised, instead he just untangled Sanha’s fingers from his shirt, and letting them drop down beside the boy’s body limply. Sanha was pretty much asleep now, lost in the chaos of his unconsciousness. Minhyuk drew himself away, used all his self-restraint to ignore the last final whine Sanha let out, but then Sanha’s hand shot out, grabbed his shirt collar again. Sanha drags him down at the same time he props himself up with some kind of newly sourced energy, and kisses the corner of Minhyuk’s mouth. It was sloppy and messy and his eyes were partly open, but it made Minhyuk splutter all the same.

Dongmin wasn’t sure if Sanha had intentionally aimed for the edge of his mouth, or if he had just missed, but it made him step back a little. He felt like an intruder into whatever this was between them, like he had just witnessed their first kiss. But surely not. Surely that doesn’t count – and there’s a huge chance the two of them had already kissed. He’s not sure thought, and he doesn’t dare ask, at least not now – not with Bin somewhat cringing beside him, seeing his best friend and brother kiss sort of drunkenly in front of him, with Jin Jin starting to struggle with MJ’s weight. Sanha flops back down onto the bed sheets, boneless and exhausted, and extracts his fingers from Minhyuk’s rumbled shirt. He rolls onto his side, facing the wall, and is immediately silent and still. Dongmin thinks it’s a safe bet that the boy was asleep, or at least too exhausted to do anything more. He wonders if Sanha will remember any of this in the morning; wonders if the boy was awake and alert enough to know what he was doing. Dongmin would be sure to remind him if he didn’t, knowing that he did want answers as to what was going on between Minhyuk and he.

When Minhyuk stepped away from the bed, pressed further back against the wall, beside Dongmin, Jin Jin stepped forward with MJ. He places MJ down easily beside Sanha, with – Dongmin notes fondly – a kiss to his forehead. It was a feather-light kiss, basically non-existent, but it had happened. It had happened, and MJ wasn’t awake to know about it, to do anything about it. Another thing, it seemed, that Dongmin would have to remind his friends of when morning came. Jin Jin then sits at the foot of the bed, looking the tiniest bit green, a little woozy, and Dongmin takes this as his cue.

“Thanks guys,” his voice is a rushed sort of whisper, most of it caught in the back of his throat in his attempt at silence.

He’s halfway out the door when Bin’s hand finds its way to his waist. Dongmin sputters, breath too thick to enter his lungs. He spins to the boy who stopped him, watches his dark eyes cloud with confusion.

“Where are you going?”

Jin Jin was standing again now, but not before brushing his fingers through MJ’s hair, much like Minhyuk had done. Minhyuk was now taking a photo of the sleeping duo, not caring that his phone flash could have woken them. Dongmin feels the corners of his mouth turning up, a little tug on the edges, and he makes a mental note to ask him for the photo some other time. Dongmin turns his attention back to Bin, who’s hand was still on his waist, albeit sitting a little looser.

“I’m going to go sleep on the couch,” he announces, planning to turn away again. There were pillows and blankets on the couch, and it was far enough back from the road that he’d be able to sleep easily.

But Bin wasn’t having it, because he just snorted at him, tightened his hand on Dongmin’s waist before letting go completely. Dongmin couldn’t help but notice how cold his skin felt there now, how it was tingling and little numb. “No, you’re not,” he announced, guiding Dongmin down the hallway with a hand on his shoulder, the other on the small of his back, leaving trails of wildfire in their wake.

“You’ll sleep in my bed.”

Dongmin stopped walking, feeling Bin run into him with an _oof_. “What? No.”

But Bin had started walking again, shoving Dongmin along gently, and he was unable to stop the movements. His legs felt like jelly because Bin’s touch left him defenceless, and when the door swung open to his bedroom, Dongmin felt like he was suffocating in Bin. It wasn’t entirely what he had predicted, but he wasn’t surprised, either. The first thing Dongmin noticed – despite it being very dark – was the _smell._ It was a mix of honey and Bin’s cologne, and the smell of teenage male that wasn’t necessarily bad, but present enough to prickle his nose. The walls weren’t overly decorated, the occasional photograph or dance competition poster, and on the shelves in the back corner there sat ornaments and the occasional trophy.

Dongmin felt himself being led deeper into the room, deeper into the private hideaway of Moon Bin. It was all very overwhelming, because the amount of times he had been the Moon-Yoon residence, never once had he seen inside.

“ _I’ll_ take the couch,” Bin added, grabbing one of the many pillows from his – surprisingly – made bed. He didn’t let Dongmin have a say in the matter, in fact, because when he went to speak, Bin had just held up a finger and wiggled it at him.

“No buts. I’ll take the couch, and you’ll sleep here.”

Dongmin sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. He nodded, reluctantly, of course, but grateful nonetheless.

“Thanks Bin,” he said, voice small and timid. “Good night.”

Bin smiled down at him from the doorway, “good night, friend.” Then he shut the door behind him. As Dongmin fell asleep, he realised he had never even bothered to ask Bin how his performance went. Some friend he was.

 

It was strange waking up in Bin’s bed with no Bin _in it._ Not that Dongmin had wanted him to be; it was just an observation. One that left him feeling a little sick at the thought of it, but he stretched his limbs out across the sheets anyway. They smelt so much like the boy he sat beside in chemistry, so very much like a selfish piece of happiness he was addicted to. He rolled onto his stomach with a groan. Despite still feeling sleepy, he knew he couldn’t outstay his welcome, especially in someone else’s bed – _when_ said someone was sleeping on the couch in the other room. With another groan – and definitely _not_ another long inhale of Bin’s scent on the pillow – Dongmin kicked the blankets out of his way, and stumbled out of the bed. Straight away, he searched for his phone. He’d put it on the bedside table, and he sighed, unsurprised, by having no notifications. The battery was, however, running critically low – so he sent another text to his Mum, saying he’d be home later in the day. Then, he made Bin’s bed as neatly as he could, fluffing up the pillows a bit and dragging the blanket across the end of the bed decoratively. When satisfied, he straightened up his hair, leaving the room in the direction of the bathroom.

He washed his hands, heading towards the sound of the kettle boiling in the kitchen – desperate to get home, but more desperate for a cup of tea. Sitting at one of the kitchen stools was MJ, though Dongmin was sure he was fast asleep. His face was hidden in the sprawl of his arms, spread out in front of him. Dongmin could see a slight darkening in the colour of his borrowed sweater, and he cringed a little at how much drool MJ was releasing. There were two mugs in front of him, one half-empty already, the other still steaming and untouched. Cheekily, Dongmin clears his throat – and MJ jumps in his seat a little, head immediately lifting from his arms. His eyes were wide and alert, ready to fight, and Dongmin is reminded of a toddler photo he’d seen the boy, back when he was still into taekwondo. He chuckled at both the memory and the boy in front of him now, who’s eyes narrowed angrily, annoyed at being disturbed from his slumber. But it passes when he sees Dongmin, grumbles just a tiny bit, and then pushes the full mug of tea across the counter to him.

“Thank you,” he mumbles around the lip of the mug, sculling half of it down in one scorching go, not caring that his tongue burned at the temperature. When he sets it down again, he lets himself relish in the feeling it brought him. There was something about a good cup of tea that could fix anything; any headache or problem, a cup of tea was sure to lessen the blow of it all. So, the two of them finished their tea in comfortable silence.

Dongmin was finshing up his last mouthful when MJ pikes up, “your place?”

He nods, cheeks ballooning around his mouthful. “My place,” he agrees, after he swallows.

They stumble back down the hall, towards Sanha’s room. When they crack the door open, Dongmin nearly jumps out of his skin. He had expected Sanha to be alone in the bed, because MJ had been there last night, and now MJ wasn’t – so his assumption wasn’t that much of an unbelievable one. But there, where MJ had once been, was Minhyuk. _Minhyuk_ , eyes closed, and chest exposed due to his lack of shirt, and holy _Jesus,_ there was this bruise on his neck that Dongmin hadn’t seen last night, and Dongmin didn’t know what to do with his hands. Beside him, Sanha was sleeping, too, and Dongmin was glad to see that Sanha appeared to be fully dressed. The bedsheets were rumbled around the two boy’s waists, and one of Minhyuk’s arms was thrown limply across Sanha’s chest. MJ snickered beside him, taking a photo with his phone – but he hadn’t been as sneaky as Minhyuk had been last night. There was the horrible shutter sound followed by a flash, and MJ swore under his breath. It was too late, though, because the sound had stirred Sanha. Minhyuk didn’t budge, though, because the hangover he was sure to have was still drowning him in sleep. Sanha’s eyes fell on the two of them in the doorway, then down at himself, at the shirtless boy sleeping on top of him. His cheeks turned an alarming shade of red, and his hands raised to his face cutely, trying to hide the rise in temperature visible on his skin, stop the embarrassed squeal from slipping between his teeth.

He wasn’t all that great at self-control, it seemed, because a little sound did make its way between his lips and tightly-pressed fingers. This time, Minhyuk moved – shuffled down the bed a little further, into Sanha’s arms a smidge tighter. He groaned, long and deep, husky with sleep, and tugged Sanha closer in his unconsciousness. MJ took another photo, this time without the sound and the accompanying flash, much to Sanha’s distaste. He threw one of the spare pillows in their direction, which both boys readily avoided, snickering behind their own hands.

Sanha was mortified, it was easy to tell – because not only was Minhyuk shirtless, he was also wrapped up in Sanha in a way that was outrageously adorable, and so _domestic_ and so _boyfriend-_ ish that it was, all in itself, overwhelming. MJ took one last photo, before pocketing it. He made a gesture to Sanha, a thumb thrown over his shoulder, with a wave. Sanha must have gotten the gist of it, because he waved back despite his obvious humiliation. As they ducked out the door, Dongmin saw a bouquet of lilies on Sanha’s bedside table – flowers that he hadn’t noticed last night. Flowers that, if he had remembered correctly, Bin had said were Sanha’s favourite. It wasn’t until they were halfway down the driveway that he heard the dull thump of a bass; and not till halfway through their bus ride that Dongmin realised the music had been coming from the basement.

 

It wasn’t until midday that the two boys actually spoke to one another about something substantial. Dongmin had been relaying the past few days in his head, the whip-lash effect it had had on him. He’d been thinking about how quick things could change, how people could be one thing one day, and another thing the next. He recalled the brief conversation he’d had with him Mum back in his first week in Seoul. She’d said that people will surprise you, but that they can’t always surprise you again – surprises aren’t limited in ones. So, maybe, Bin would be Dongmin’s surprise. He’d already surprised him once, so there was still a chance he’d do it again. In fact, Dongmin had an inkling he already had – or rather, on the way to.

With MJ though, it was a different story. The boy had been surprised far too many times; and it wasn’t an enjoyable surprise, either. In fact, the complete opposite. He’d experienced betrayal and hatred and bullying from the one person he thought he’d never have to experience it _from_ – his best friend – and all the things he had confided in with him, he took with him to his new friend group. Dongmin knew MJ well enough to know that loyalty was the most important thing to him, but he was quick to forgive and forget. Dongmin had stressed to himself – and to MJ – for days now that it was okay to forgive. In fact, it was honourable. Forgiving Jin Jin for what he did would always be _okay_ in Dongmin’s eyes – but Dongmin didn’t think his friend should be so quick to _forget._

Because people will always surprise you. They can surprise you more than once. If they can do that, they can hurt you more than once, too. 

The substantial conversation was a reflection of his inner thoughts, ones he’d been meaning to bring up since the first day back, but had just never knew how to word it, or where it would lead.

MJ had said hello to Dongmin’s parents in passing – who were sitting at the table eating lunch together. Dongmin felt like he hadn’t sat down with them in a long while, despite having eaten dinner with them most nights this week. He missed them, actually – more than he thought he would. He loved the time he spent with MJ and Sanha and everyone else in between, but he craved the affection of his parents, so he made a mental note to cook them dinner sometime in the near future to make up for his absence. They greeted MJ cheerfully, fully aware of his situation now with Jin Jin, and welcomed him into their home as warmly as MJ’s parents had. From there, they slunk into Dongmin’s bedroom, where they lounged across his bed at awkward – yet comfortable – angles. Their legs were tangled together, arms thrown over their heads as they gripped the pillows around their necks, eyes lazy underneath the breeze of the ceiling fan. The soft tick it emitted was enough to lull Dongmin half to sleep, but not before MJ’s voice permeated into the air along with it.

“Jinny wants me to come to dinner tonight.”

Dongmin stiffened against his bedsheets. He turned his head to face his friend, lips poised in waiting. “Like a date?”

Beside him, MJ shrugged, his shoulders brushing against his own. “Don’t think so. He said it was going to be with his parents.”

“Ah.”

“Ah?”

Dongmin shrugged this time. “I mean, I don’t know. Why?”

“No idea. I haven’t seen his parents in so _long_ , it’s been years.”

Dongmin shuffled a little on the bed, so that he was lying on his side, facing his friend. “Do they know?”

MJ met his eyes, which looked strangely distant despite their close proximity. “About me liking dick or about their son? Because yes and no.”

Dongmin huffed at MJ’s crassness, flicking him on the forehead with his index finger. “Not what I meant, but okay. I _mean_ , do they know that you were enemies?”

He watched MJ blush the tiniest bit, bringing his hands up to his chest, fiddling with the sleeves of Sanha’s sweater he’d stolen. On his short frame, it hung off his body like a dress – it reached his mid-thigh, and he had to roll the sleeves up several times to free his hands. “I assume so. They used to call me and my parents all the time. After Jinny stopped talking to me, so did they.” Dongmin notes fondly at MJ’s continuous use of _Jinny_ , despite the nickname itself baring many memories lost to them by distance and anger. Dongmin would love to one day call him that himself, but for now the stale taste of Jin Jin would remain in his vocabulary.

“Do you think he’s going to tell them?”

MJ shakes his head, his skin making a static sound against the linen pillowcase. “Doubt it. His parents are too conservative. At least, that’s what he told me at the wedding.”

Dongmin nodded, understanding. Because he did. He did understand it – to an extent, at least. He was lucky to have such understanding and accepting parents, who didn’t care much for that kind of thing. But he knew about parents, obviously, who were like Jin Jin’s. Disgusted and repulsed by such _behaviours._ Dongmin realises how hard it must have been to come out to Jin Jin, whose parents were so blatantly against same-sex relationships, when he knew there was a chance Jin Jin wold never speak to him again. He feels pride swell in his chest, but he tucks it away for later, when the conversation was over and he could coo to his best friend about it without seeming rude for changing the topic.

“Will you go?”

MJ snuggled closer to him, fidgeting fingers loosening and wrapping around his waist. He tucked his head into his neck, and the whole thing would seem cutely romantic had he not known the truth of MJ’s actions, or the content of their conversation. Dongmin smiled against his hair, wrapping his own arms around him in retaliation. He let his lips press against his hair now, and he hummed, feeling the smaller boy sigh in content.

“I guess so. I mean, I want to be careful, you know? Not only want, but _need._ I need to look after myself, because I don’t know what I’d do if something like that happened again. But at the same time,” he said, in a bit of a breathy rush. He inhaled, all ragged-sounding and wobbly, as if close to tears. “ _But at the same time_ , I need to try remaining open-minded. I need to realise that people do change, or I mean, their actions do. They’re the same person but their morals and values change and adapt, right? Maybe that’s what’s happening with Jinny. Maybe that could happen with his parents, right?”

This was Dongmin’s cue. MJ wanted advice on a topic he really had no experience with, and as he was his only close friend right now – Sanha still being out of the loop – he was the only one had to go to aside from his parents. And Dongmin knew MJ wouldn’t want to bother them with the intensity of this, despite them knowing the gritty details now. Instead of speaking, Dongmin threads his fingers through MJ’s unruly hair, trying to smooth the day-old curls. He remained silent, but listened willingly, something MJ had picked up on through his actions.

“I _loved_ him, and he broke my heart – yes, he did that, and he broke it in the way unrequited love breaks any heart. But that wasn’t what hurt the most. What hurt the most was that I lost my best friend, too.” He coughs, and his breathing wasn’t quite so soft anymore, and Dongmin knew the smaller was crying. Not heavily, but enough. More than Dongmin liked, at least.

“All this interaction with him again has made me realise how much I _miss_ him. I missed him _so_ _fucking much, Minnie._ I don’t know what I’m going to do if he leaves my life again.”

They sit in silence for a while longer, while Dongmin formulates some kind of meaningful reply. He comes up blank. All he can conjure up, all he can produce, is some lousy question that he’s certain MJ himself can’t answer.

“So, what are you going to do?”

It’s a little while later that he responds. Dongmin is half asleep, though his eyes are open and watching the whirls of paint on his walls.

“I think,” MJ starts, voicing a little cracked. “I think I’ll go.” More silence, just the tightening of arms, the drag of bodies being pulled closer together. “That’s what I’m going to do, Min. I’m going to go. Because everyone deserves a second chance. Or a third chance, whatever. I don’t know anymore.”

Before he can say anything, MJ’s phone dings. Neither boy had to look to see who it was. There was no doubt in Dongmin’s mind that it was Jin Jin. MJ’s little _it’s him_ confirms that.

“He wants to know if I’m coming or not. His parents are asking after me.”

“Well, tell him you’re going then?”

MJ nods, typing out a reply, and then listening to the sound of the text sending. “I’ll go to the stupid dinner tonight. I’ll _go_ , so then maybe Jin Jin can’t _leave_.”

MJ didn’t stay long after that. It was nearing two pm, and he still had to get home and shower and pick out something half decent to wear. Dongmin himself was itching for shower and a proper change of clothes, though he felt somewhat deflated at the fact that he would be spending his Saturday night alone while his friend suffered through a predictably awkward family dinner. He sent a little prayer to a God he didn’t believe in that everything would work out okay in the end, but for some reason, the silence that followed did nothing to comfort him.

 

He’d had more quiet Saturday nights than he’d had loud ones, but with the amount of time he’d spent those weekends with MJ and Sanha lately, it was strange to be spending it alone all of a sudden. And so suddenly, too. MJ rarely ever made plans, and when he did, they always included him – so this was out of the ordinary for Dongmin, and he didn’t know what to do. He’d already showered, and he’d downed two more cups of tea, and he suddenly realised the weird itch in his fingers meant he was _bored._ He hadn’t been bored in so long. Being friends with MJ meant you could never be bored, but on top of that, he hadn’t had the quietest of weeks. He sent a good luck text to MJ when the boy sent through his outfit of choice, casual jeans and a nice button up shirt, a sweater thrown over his arm just in case. He knew not to expect any dramatic texts, nothing to alarm him or almost live-blog the entire experience for him, but he still felt disappointed every time he checked his phone and nothing was there. The silence from MJ continued well into the night, and into the tiny hours of Sunday morning. Dongmin fell asleep sometime around three, and when he woke at ten, he still had no notifications on his phone. He could feel the minutes tick by as slow as hours did, and by the time it reached midday, Dongmin was about ready to crawl out of his own skin. Sending one last text to MJ – _seriously…are you dead? Did Jin Jin kill you? –_ he grabbed his phone and wallet and keys, and headed out his front door before he could question himself.

He waited at the bus stop for ten minutes before the bus pulled around the corner, and the ride to Sanha’s felt longer than it should have. He knew it was likely that the boy was home – he never did much on weekends, proclaiming them to be his relaxation days, and then whines later when he has so much homework to catch up on – so spending a few hours with him was sure to distract Dongmin from his nerves.

It wasn’t like MJ to not return Dongmin’s texts after a few hours, let alone _overnight._ He considered texting MJ’s Mum, but he knew if she knew of anything serious, he’d be the first to know. He swallowed down his anxiety as best as he could when his stop came, and within five minutes he was hurrying up Sanha’s front path. He hadn’t sent Sanha a text saying he’d be coming around, just assumed that he stuck to his usual pattern so often that there was no doubt he’d be home. But he should have texted.

The house seemed strangely quiet, even for a Sunday, and if it hadn’t been for the dull thump of music, he would have thought no one was home. Dongmin knocked, swallowing down whatever _that_ feeling was in his throat. It was persistent though, so he knocked louder, only to be further ignored. The taste of anxiety pushed and pulled in his throat, tapping away at his insides and threatening to spill between his lips. After his third knock went ignored, he tired his very best to compose himself. He had a decision to make. He knew it was Bin in the basement. The home gym that was solely for his use, the place he could dance and workout in peace while Sanha lived the majority of his life in the music studio. He _knew_ that if he went down there, they’d be alone, and there’d be no interruptions, and it was unlikely that Dongmin would have any self-restraint around the flirty male. But he had hardly any self-restraint now, it seemed, because already, he could feel himself itching forwards, hand reaching for the door knob. He could very easily twist it open, let himself inside – he was told over and over that he was more than welcome to at any time – and head downstairs to where Bin was dancing away, and _have at it._ But then, at the same time, he didn’t want to _have at it._ Bin had made it clear at the wedding that he wanted to be _friends_. That pesky word – _friend_ – was the highlight of that speech he gave, and Dongmin didn’t want to be the one to ruin that. So, despite his logic, he turned the handle and let himself venture inside. His heart could be a real prick at times, it seemed. Inside, it looked the same – same photos on the same, same furniture, same smell of a burnt-out candle – but it _felt_ different. He couldn’t quite place it, but he guessed it had something to do with the emptiness of it; or rather, the fullness of it – full of Dongmin and of Moon Bin. He was hesitating in the entryway, and took him several moments to even make his way to the top of the stairs leading down to the refurbished basement. He’d been here just yesterday, so it wasn’t like it was something obscenely obscure or _foreign_ to him. He’d never walked these stairs before, though, and for some reason, he felt like they were forbidden territory. He’d never had a reason to go down there, only ever here originally for Sanha’s music studio. And during that time, he and Bin weren’t exactly _speaking_ , so it made zero sense for him to ever open these doors, walk these steps down into whatever the _hell_ awaited below.

He had an image of what the studio looked like in his head. Like everything, like every _one_ ever imagined, there had to be wall-to-ceiling mirrors, and he assumed there would be a large speaker somewhere in the corner, too. He pictured beige walls and bright LED lighting. Whatever else he had imagined though, was lost to him the moment he opened the stairwell door. He was met with fluorescent yellow. It was an alarming shade of yellow; so much so, that he was actually starting to question whether it was actually green instead. It hurt his eyes a little, too, and he had to blink rapidly for his vision to refocus. There was strip lighting on the stairs, though they weren’t turned on – he feared for a minute that the moment he stepped onto the first step, they’d light up like a beacon. Thankfully, when he anxiously put his foot out to tap the offending wood, nothing happened.

With a sigh, he kept stepping down, until more and more of the room below became visible. He couldn’t see Bin, but the music was louder down here. The bass ricocheted off the walls, and the mirrored wall he could see the tops of were vibrating in protest. The yellow – _green?_ – phased out the lower he got, easing into calmer shades, a little soothing, all until suddenly he was met with a fluorescent pink instead. What shocked him most though was Bin – sitting in the centre of the room, looking almost as if he were meditating. Dongmin felt like an intruder in his sanctuary, a virus in his bloodstream, even. Bin hadn’t noticed him yet – the music too loud to hear the approaching footsteps on the wooden stairs – and his eyes were held tightly closed. His chest was heaving, as if he’d just finished a routine. Which was likely, judging by the sweat on his brow, and on the back of his shirt clinging to his slender, yet muscular, frame.

Dongmin’s mind was racing, and there were expletives flying all around in his eardrums, telling him to get _the fuck out_. He turned to leave, and that decision right there was his fatal mistake. His hand smacked against the wall he turned, and Dongmin had no control over the yelp that slipped through his lips. The wall was concrete, as to be expected for a below ground level, but it still _hurt_ , and he was sure it would bruise. Bruise his ego, too, it seemed, because Dongmin’s head snapped around at him, eyes wide and alert.

Dongmin wasn’t sure what his face was doing, but he knew he must have looked a little silly standing there, clutching at his throbbing hand, of which was done unannounced and uninvited. He didn’t know what _his_ face was doing, but he could clearly see what Bin’s was doing – and it was the opposite of what he had expected. Instead of anger, and maybe even a dash of embarrassment, he was met with utter confusion. He pushes himself off the ground, floored by the appearance of Dongmin in his dance studio. The opposite wall to the mirror was the home gym – a little nook in the wall with weights and treadmill and bike, and Dongmin unintentionally screwed his nose up at the equipment he very much detested, before drawing his eyes back to Bin in the middle of the room.

He shifted on the bottom step, taking the last footfall to the floor, so he was on even ground with the boy in front of him. Bin took this as his cue to speak, and he uttered out a puzzled “Dongmin? Is everything alright?”

His voice wasn’t strictly panicked, but it _was_ obviously there – and it made Dongmin feel a little taken aback at his _thoughtfulness._ But also – couldn’t he visit his friend? And that’s what they were now, right?

“Yeah,” he said, voice sounding surprisingly stable. “I’m fine.”

“Oh. Good.” Silence. Awkward shuffling of feet. A little more silence before “why are you here?”

Dongmin didn’t hesitate. “To see my friend, of course.”

Dongmin watched a deep crease form between Bin’s eyebrows, at the side of his mouth. “Sanha’s not here, he—” He stops, sees the expression on his face. “Oh. You mean me.”

Dongmin smiles, tucking his neck slightly. “I did indeed.”

Bin is all red and prettily flushed, and not just from the exercise. Dongmin finds pleasure in this, being able to make the boy feel as sheepish as he did now. The silence that followed Bin’s realisation, and Dongmin sort of awkward reply, wasn’t heavy. It didn’t feel like they were suffocating in it, and nor did it feel uncomfortable. He felt calm, actually, something he hadn’t really felt all day. Maybe it was because Bin’s eyes were relatively peaceful and subdued in comparison to the bright room around him; or maybe it was because his heart lulled itself to the beating of his thoughts, which were hazy and foggy with the thoughts of Bin himself.

The silence ended though, when Bin walked to the side of the room and unplugged his phone from the AUX cord connected to the speaker. When he turned back to him, his lips were spread into a wide grin. “Shall we get a drink? My treat.”

It was Dongmin’s turn to blush, and he didn’t disappoint. He nodded – hopefully not too frantically – and allowed Bin to lure him up the stairs.

 

Dongmin learned that Bin’s first ever pet was a goldfish named Samson. He – remarkably – lived eight whole years, and Bin said he’d often tell people that it was his greatest achievement. In return, Dongmin told Bin about the first time he’d broken a bone – which was, even more surprisingly, the only bone he’d ever broken. It was during one of his first ever proper performances, singing a song he was quite unfamiliar with. He was overly tense back that, he explained, more than he ever was now. Back then, as a kid, he wasn’t able to control his nerves quite so well, and more often than not, they’d overwhelm him – which was exactly what had happened during that fateful performance. It was his primary school’s showcase production, and he’d felt a little wobbly standing there in the spotlight, microphone in hand, bottom lip trembling. He recalls trying to find his parents in the audience, but the auditorium was too dark for him to see past the first three rows. He tells Bin he couldn’t remember much after that, what had happened, what he’d said or done – all he remembers was that one minute he was scanning the crowd, and the next, he was _in_ the crowd. They said he’d fainted, but he wasn’t quite so sure. The pain, though, was all he could think about. The embarrassment came later, as did the refusal to sing ever again for a whole four months. It was thankfully a very clean break, his ankle swelling up big and black and sitting at an uncomfortable angle as the ambulance came. He obviously had returned to singing in the end, loving it far too much to ever let it go, but he did learn to stand further back from the edge of the stage, should something of the like ever happen again.

Bin then told Dongmin of the first bone _he’d_ broken, which was one of his ribs. More accurately, he said, it was just a fracture – but any kind of damage to a rib feels like a sharp snap anyway. He hadn’t explained much about how he had gotten it; said that his first house was spread across three levels, and he just so happened to trip down one of them. He was five years old, apparently, and something sat low and heavy Dongmin’s stomach – much like the feeling of nausea, he noted – because he realised that at this age, Bin was still living with his biological mother. Dongmin couldn’t help the images that flashed into his mind, but he did try his best to supress them, accept the fact that Bin had been a clumsy child, and _had_ just tripped down the stairs.

This then, progressed into more small talk – favourite colours and favourite musicians, art that had caught there eye recently, books they’d read that they definitely read _again_. It made Dongmin feel silly – all warm and fuzzy, just like the movies, just like the _books_ themselves made him feel. But he wasn’t embarrassed or ashamed of these feelings, because he kind of had the idea that Bin felt the same. He was blushed much like himself, and his hands were itching at his sides, itching to grab his own. Every now and then their fingers would brush together, and they’d _twitch_ , as if suppressing grabbing his own was overwhelming. He also thought Bin was staring more than usual, but then that was ridiculous all on its own. Dongmin snorts internally at his stupidity, at his digging for proof that maybe the boy beside him actually expressed some kind of feelings for him. Stupid. _So,_ stupid.

Dongmin knew of the smoothie bar down the road from Bin’s place, though he’d never been. Bin led him inside with confidence, hand wrapped securely around his elbow, making Dongmin’s heart flutter in the back of his throat. Inside, the smoothie bar was lit with fluorescent lighting – colours very similar to that of Bin’s studio – and had black and white framed artwork on the walls. It was small – tiny, actually – with only one table setting inside, and another two outside; but the entire place felt quaint, borderline adorable. It was the sort of place you’d go on a date, Dongmin guessed – but this wasn’t a date. This was two friends just grabbing a drink to go.

The menu was exorbitantly large – too many options, too many that sounded delicious. In the end, he chose a _banana bash,_ which was, quite obviously, banana, but mixed with chocolate, too. Bin declared that he was getting his usual – a mixed berry and mango fusion – and when their drinks were ready, they headed off down the street again.

They drank in silence for a while, Dongmin moaning at his first sip, grinning in approval at Bin. At the sound, Bin grinned widely, satisfied that his friend liked the bar he frequented so often. That confirmation made Dongmin blush, but he passed it off as the fact he was drinking a cold drink, and not because Bin knew all the ways to make Dongmin speechless. When he was halfway through his drink, he spoke again. “Hey Bin?”

“Mmm?” The boy sounded around his straw, turning to look at him as they walked.

Dongmin smiled, directing his eyes down at his own straw. “What do you want to be?”

Bin fumbled into his next step. “What do you mean?”

He slurped loudly, purposefully, grinning at Bin’s eye-roll. “I mean. You’ve got this reputation as being a science geek. I can vouch for that in Chemistry – you’re incredible at it,” Bin blushed, turning away from him. “But then, you’re an amazing dancer, too—no, don’t deny it! I’ve seen your studio!” Bin turned ever redder, but didn’t make any move to stop his rant, so he continued. “No _bad_ dancer has their own private studio _in their house.”_

Bin was nearing the end of his drink now, because it seemed easier for him to drink than to respond. But Dongmin no longer accepted silence anymore, and Bin knew this, judging by the way he flickered his eyes anxiously over to him. He sighed, pulling the straw from between his lips. Dongmin tried not to stare at them, but he failed – Bin didn’t mention it, of which he was thankful. He wasn’t sure he had a very appropriate response as to _why_ he’d be doing such a thing just yet.

“I’ve always loved science. But I’ve always loved dance, too. I think I’d be happy doing either, there’s no battle as to what one I love _more._ It’s just, I guess, which one is the most practical, you know?” Dongmin nods, he knows, he does. He just refused to accept an existence that was easier, or more practical, solely because the other option seemed unsteady and rocky.

He said as much to the boy now, who took the advice graciously, humbly, even, but merely shrugged afterwards. “We’ll see,” and then he promptly began to drink from his smoothie again, and Dongmin knew that _that_ conversation was over.

Dongmin could feel his phone vibrating in his pocket – he was getting texts, and he knew that there was a high chance it was MJ, but right now, he was focused on this very moment. Selfish, he’d later think, but he wasn’t thinking of much else other than _BinBinBin_ right now. He hoped MJ would forgive him. They walked past Bin’s place, and down the street to where the bus stop was located. They hadn’t discussed whether Dongmin was going home yet or not, but it was getting later in the afternoon, and Bin hadn’t been at home for a while because of their walk – and perhaps he was expected to be by a certain time. He should be, too, especially now with MJ no doubt stressing about _him_ not replying.

With the bus stop in their sights, the boys hurried to finish their drinks. They did so easily, the drink flavoursome and refreshing in the humidity, and Dongmin wished he’d had another one when it ran dry. He slurped loudly before throwing away into the rubbish bin beside the stop. He was itching to ask, and Bin seemed thawed and comfortable, so if he were to ever ask, now was definitely the time. So, he swallowed the fear he still had, and just _asked_ what he’d been meaning to ask for a while now.

“Bin, why did you stop playing the piano?”

It was silent, the question hanging heavy in the air. Dongmin suddenly felt very exposed with the way Bin was eyeing him just now, pupils dilated and lids spread wide. Dongmin thinks he’s just about to say something, when his phone cuts him off with loud, piercing shrill. His bloody phone was ringing, and Dongmin didn’t need to check it to know that it was MJ calling him. Dongmin hadn’t even checked any of his texts from the boy, knowing full well MJ would be stressing about something. The relief, though, did fill his body. He was worried about the whereabouts of his friend, why his said friend was so quiet and unresponsive to his messages, but he’d always cracked an untouchable layer with Bin. Their voices were soft and unguarded, hands sharing touches at their sides, eyes lingering on lips longer than normal. It had been going so well, so much smoother than Dongmin had thought, but now – now MJ had kind of spoiled it. Not in a way that Dongmin would ever be mad at him for, or spiteful, but enough to make Dongmin’s spirits drop. They must have dropped enough for his eyes to lose a little life, because Bin held up a hand, and took a step back.

“I’ll let you go,” he said, voice sounding a little sad, if Dongmin could hear it correctly.

“Bin, wait—”

“It’s fine, Dongmin! Take the call – I’ll see you at school tomorrow, yeah?”

The phone was still ringing between them. Dongmin desperately wanted to continue their conversation, but the moment was lost, the trust in Bin’s eyes gone and replaced with something much more calculated and reinforced. Instead of fighting back, he just sighed. “Okay, Bin. Thanks for the drink.”

Bin nodded his head in farewell, before turning on his heel and heading back up the street to his house. The further away he got, the lonelier Dongmin felt.

 

Dongmin had completely forgotten about his afternoon with Bin the moment he heard the frantic nature of MJ’s voice. It sounded tinny and drained, life he was on his _deathbed_ , and the signal was poor as he was travelling in and out of tunnels on the bus. From what he’d gathered, the dinner had gone so much worse than he’d ever imagined it to. So, bad, in fact, that he’d been closed up in his room for a day – phone battery completely drained – and allowing his Mum to nurture him like he was five years old again and home from school sick. Upon hearing this, Dongmin stopped at the bus interchange, swapping buses so that he ended up at the right location for MJ’s place. He made a beeline for the café first – two hot chocolates, one with extra whipped cream and extra chocolate drizzle, and a large chocolate muffin, too – before practically running as carefully as he could with two steaming hot cups to MJ’s building. Pushing the front door open with his foot, he snuck inside the darkening penthouse. MJ’s parents didn’t seem to be home, judging by the way all the lights were off, and how quiet it was. He knew MJ would be in his room, though, rugged up and dozing in and out of sleep.

He takes a deep breath before entering MJ’s room – knowing that sight would be rather shocking to him. And it was. But more than he’d been expecting. Only the top of MJ’s hair could be seen from underneath his mountain of blankets and pillows, and for a moment, Dongmin wondered whether or not the boy could even _breathe._ He stepped further into the room, hoping the noise of him entering would be enough to snap him alert and awake. But alas, nothing. Walking around to the side of the bed, Dongmin could see MJ’s eyes were open, but looking less alive than the rest of his body. They were empty and dry, and staring straight at Dongmin but not really seeing him, not really _looking._ It was a little terrifying, and had Dongmin not loved this boy to pieces, he’d have gotten up and left. But he did love him. He loved him so, so deeply, and more than most other things in his life. So instead of leaving, he placed the two hot chocolates on the bedside table, near MJ’s head, and crawled in behind him. He snuggled up behind the boy, spooning him even, and let the weight of the blankets soak in around him. He could see why MJ found it so comforting having so many blankets. If you were alone, it would feel like someone was hugging you. The blankets provided a safe nesting feeling, as well as offering just enough weight to provide comfort without giving you heat stroke.

Neither of them spoke a for what felt like a long while, but couldn’t have been that long because Dongmin could still see steam oozing out of the mouth piece of the travel cups. He saw MJ’s small hand crawl out of the mound of blankets and grasp at the closest one, drawing it near him. He took a deep sip before returning to its place. Then, all at once, MJ shoved himself upright and backwards, leaning against the bed head. Dongmin scurried to follow suit, resting one hand on his friend’s knee, the other holding his own drink. He shivered at the warmth of it seeping into his skin, when MJ finally spoke.

“Jin Jin’s parents know I’m gay. They know because he told them that that was why we were no longer friends. Why things had gotten bad between us. Why I stopped coming around.”

MJ snorted, but there was no humour behind. “His Dad said – _he stopped coming ‘round because he came out_ ’ and then proceeded to make more jokes about it during dinner.” MJ’s eyes were shiny, filling with tears, and Dongmin made no move to stop them. They were inevitable, and crying was the best cure sometimes. So, Dongmin sat helplessly, allowing his friend to cry, as he recalled the gory details.

“They said that they were so happy to see me again, Min. They were _so happy_ , and welcoming at first, but then they just kept joking about me, being gay. And it was fine at first, I thought they were just playing ‘round, but Jin Jin was sitting so tense beside me, and he forced himself to laugh at every single one,” he wiped at his eyes now, but his voice remained strong and sure.

“They said that _one day, MJ, we’ll cure you. We won’t hold your disease against you._ And—” He stopped, throat closing up and a heart-wrenching sob ripping through him. “And, _and,_ Jin Jin _nodded and said_ nothing!”

Whatever else had happened, MJ never got the chance to tell – and Dongmin never got the chance to offer any advice, either. Because the sobbing didn’t stop till an hour later, when the boy fell limp and exhausted in his arms, drinks cold and untouched beside them. Dongmin let the boy fall asleep against him, eyes red and swollen, throat painfully dry. When he was sure the boy was asleep, Dongmin allowed himself to cry. Because he’d been expecting this, but it hurt just the same. MJ allowed the boy to walk back into his life, allowed Jin Jin to be trusted again. And Dongmin trusted him a bit, too, maybe not as much as MJ but enough to consider him a _friend._ But now, Dongmin’s suspicions had been confirmed. Jin Jin had destroyed his best friend, _again_ , but this time more than his heart. Not only had he broken his heart the way unrequited love does, but he’d broken his self-esteem, too. Jin Jin hadn’t defended MJ, when the reason they weren’t friends to begin with was because of his disgust about his friend’s sexuality – something he had sworn he was over at the wedding.

So, Dongmin cried and cried, until he, too, fell asleep against the smaller boy. It wasn’t until later that Dongmin realised, for the first time, that MJ hadn’t called him Jinny. MJ had called him Jin Jin.

 

It was amazing how quickly things could turn to shit. Monday’s were beginning to live up to their reputation more than ever before, because when Dongmin and MJ woke up to their alarms the next day – eyes still red and swollen from the night before – they felt nothing but dread. It was an unspoken agreement between them that things were now going to change. Routine would be different. Things that they both put up with would be different. Life changed, and so they did, too, if they both wanted to survive within it. That first day back was the hardest, after everything with Jin Jin, because the sour taste had returned to Dongmin’s mouth. He realised as he parted ways with MJ at his locker that morning, that he’d have to see Bin in chemistry first thing. He knew Bin had nothing to do with the dinner – he wasn’t _there,_ had no control over the situation or what had come (or hadn’t come) out of Jin JIn’s mouth. But he was _his friend_ , which meant he had to take his side on all accounts. That’s what friends _did_ ; they stood by their friends, supported them, made sure they were okay. So, that’s what Dongmin did, too. He was MJ’s friend, and that meant supporting him. Being there for him. It didn’t mean continuing whatever this was with Bin – it meant silence was to be his best friend again, even for just Chemistry.

When he sat down beside the boy, he didn’t respond to his cheery _Good morning Dongmin_ nor did he smile back at him. In fact, he ignored him the entire period – no matter how much of a challenge that was. Dongmin could feel the distress oozing off the boy beside him, much like he remembers himself feeling when Bin never responded to him. He knew though that he was being remarkably rude, but surely Jin Jin had spoken to Bin about what had happened, and he’d made no move to say anything regarding it – so, Dongmin didn’t have to be polite. Bin eventually fell into silence, distress morphing into melancholy, and it was beginning to give Dongmin a headache. The clock finally ticked its way over, and the bell rung before Dongmin could cave – and he was out the door before Bin could do anything about it.

When lunch comes around, both MJ and Dongmin wordlessly agree to avoid the lunchroom all together. That way, they wouldn’t be forced to sit with them, or even _near_ them. Instead, they made their way outside, to the outskirts of the playing field where tall trees offered shade and protection from the heat. They eat their lunch mostly in silence, watching first year students playing on the field, seeing teachers stroll across the grounds aimlessly as they eat their own lunches. When they’ve finished, they chat about nothing in particular – small things, like homework, or what they were doing for dinner, or what they were reading. It wasn’t boring, per se, but there was no life to the conversation. They both felt dead – MJ more than Dongmin – and they had no one but Jin Jin to blame. Jin Jin, and themselves, Dongmin supposes, for allowing the heart-breaker back into MJ’s life.

 

They hadn’t really considered Sanha noticing their absence a possibility, but after a week and a half of not seeing him, it was no surprise that he came storming over to where they sat one lunch break. It was Wednesday, the sun high in the centre of the sky, and it was so blinding at this angle that Dongmin and MJ hadn’t been able to figure out who was heading their way. They heard him screech though – a loud, blood-curdling _Dongmin_ – that raised the hairs on his arms. Beside him, he heard MJ mumble an _oh shit,_ before he pushed himself to his feet. MJ stayed sitting beside him, but his lunch was on his lap, completely forgotten. His eyes were fixed on Sanha, the happy boy bouncing with joy, long gone and replaced with someone emitting nothing but anger and disappointment. Dongmin felt guilty instantaneously.

Sanha was their _friend_ , and no matter how close he was to Jin Jin and Bin and Minhyuk, he still deserved an explanation. Dongmin threw a cautionary glance at MJ, who subtly nodded, and when he turned back to Sanha, he knew that it was now or never. The younger boy was standing in front of them with his hands on his hips – something Dongmin would have found cute had it not been for the expression of his eyes, dark and brooding, with flames threatening to burst out of them.

So, Dongmin motions for Sanha to sit. He doesn’t at first, so Dongmin sits first, back where he had before, but leaving a little less space between MJ and himself. He wasn’t sure if it was to protect MJ, or for MJ to protect him, but either way, Sanha narrowed his eyes at the movement before dropping down in front of them. He folded his long legs out in front of himself, hands clasped in his lap, before peering across at them with expectant, questioning eyes.

Dongmin cleared his throat, and then, with a final intake of breath, told the story from the very start. He told it to the best of his ability, trying to do MJ’s story justice. He watched the staunch expression on Sanha’s face slip into something much softer, then angry all over again, before watery and gooey just like Dongmin’s remembers MJ’s being a few weeks ago. When he finished speaking, Sanha’s hands were shaking in time with the tremble of his bottom lip, and when his tears spilled over, he fell forward. His head fell into MJ’s lap, whose hands tangled their way into the first year’s hair. Dongmin leaned back against the tree, watching his two dearest friends sob into each other, feel each other’s pain, and while it hurt just as much, there was some kind of beauty in being able to share it with other people you loved.

When they stop crying, Dongmin expects Sanha to speak – to say something, _anything_ , but he remains silent. He sits quietly with the two of them in the same spot, until dark rain clouds threaten them back indoors.

 

It continues. The silence at the chemistry table as well as sitting under the tree at lunch. MJ and Dongmin still meet at his locker each morning, but now Sanha accompanies them. He had slotted right into their routine despite their age difference, and when they make plans outside of school, Sanha is always included. Dongmin is too scared to properly ask what Sanha’s home life is like at the moment, but judging by the way Sanha is always at MJ’s or his own place, he can’t imagine it’s going very well. Dongmin can’t get over how horrid the situation must be for Sanha, his experience of the whole series of events entirely different to their own. Firstly, Jin Jin was a _friend_ – a very close family friend, for that matter. Jin Jin was one of Bin’s best friends, which meant that Sanha knew him well, because he, too, was undeniably close to Bin. Not only because they were brothers, but because they did mesh well as people.  Their personalities were so very different but they melded together like paper and glue; like skin to a band aid. On top of that, Sanha had something going on with Minhyuk – a boy who, quite obviously, was best friends with the two aforementioned boys. The whole thing meant that Sanha’s loyalty held favours with Bin, his family, and his friends. _The whole thing meant_ that Sanha had taken MJ’ side despite all those factors, had known his brother’s friend was _wrong_. So, wrong, in fact, that he had taken to cutting ties with all three entirely. And MJ was forever grateful, as was Dongmin. The boy was young – yes, not much younger than they were, but _enough_ – and for him to make such a decision, to lose friends, especially at an age where he remains so vulnerable, was incredibly brave and heart-warming to see for the two elders.

More often than not, the three of them rarely spoke when they were together. If they did, it was never about anything like they spoke about at the lunch table – no more politics, no more inside jokes. Now, conversations lulled into topics of homework and study sessions, something that was becoming more and more dire as the school year came to a close. It had only been a few weeks since the incident, a few weeks more since the wedding, but even now, Dongmin’s mind was held captive by thoughts of both Bin and his impending examinations. More than ever, Dongmin wished things had turned out differently – something he remembers thinking his very first day here at the new school. After meeting MJ that first day, everything had changed, ultimately, for the good at first. MJ was one of the most loveable and respectful people he’d ever met, one of the warmest, too, and he was forever grateful that he got to have him in his life. Same went for Sanha, too. But none of that stopped his thoughts, nothing could stop the way he kept thinking about what life would be like had he never moved to Seoul. Had he never met _Moon Bin._

Each morning, when the three of them part ways at his locker, he has to face the desperation in Bin’s eyes. He has to walk in, wordlessly as ever, and sit beside the boy he was terrified of feeling anything for, and he had to pretend that they had never been friends. That they had never even been close. Sure, they had only been talking – inside and outside of school – for around two weeks, _if that_ , but it felt like much longer. And in that short amount of time, Dongmin felt like he had learnt so much about himself in addition to things about Bin, things he’d never imagine knowing about. Dongmin, now, felt like he was suffering from a mortal wound. Like the jab he’d feel in his chest every time his eyes fell on the boy beside him was an indication that he was actually _dying_ from the distance. He sat so close to him – sometimes, their legs or hands would brush together – but he felt miles away. Worlds, even. He’d fumble with his bag and his books and his pens as he sat himself down beside him, using all his strength to bite back his words, the words that oh so desperately wished to escape. He wanted, more than anything, to run his hands through the boy’s hair, to hold his hand and to whisper so many _I’m sorry_ ’s into his skin that he felt close to tears at the sheer force at which he was restraining himself from doing so. He could feel the tendons clench and unclench, tightening as he supresses the actions well below his skin.

He’s thankful when the teacher begins to speak, because it gives him something else to focus on. Lately, his grades in Chemistry had improved somewhat. Still not the best, nor the greatest they could be given how much free time he had, but enough to get him by. Enough that he was still proud of himself for doing it all alone, learning all of it never seeking Bin’s held despite the primal urge he had to do so.

On Friday morning, Bin feels particularly tense beside him. It wasn’t always quite so obvious, this tension, but today it hung over the both of them, and it was making Dongmin overly nervous. He didn’t want to say anything, but at the same time, he bit the inside of his gums, preventing any accidental slips. Dongmin had noticed the shift between them. At first, Bin had been devastated at the silence Dongmin had been throwing his way. He’d continue to talk to him, try to coax some words from him, but each day the words got less and less, until now, _until today,_ Bin didn’t utter a single word. Dongmin knew he shouldn’t be feeling it, he has no _right_ be feeling it – but he feels _angry._ Angry because Bin had given up; angry because it had actually come to this in the first place. Mostly though, he was angry because Bin had stopped fighting – and that was something Dongmin had thought he’d never, ever do. Bin fought for many things: he fought for his dancing, fought for his grades, his friends. But not for Dongmin. That, and the fact that he allowed his best friend to hurt MJ all over again, was enough for Dongmin to remain silent easily for the rest of the period.

It wasn’t until the bell rang and he went to leave that Bin showed any sign of life. The hour he hadn’t taken any notes, and even for him – someone who excels at the class – that was uncommon. Dongmin noticed the lack of pen and paper on his desk, the lack of enthusiasm and interest in his eyes. Usually, in this class in particular, Bin looked _lively._ Look more alive than anyone else Dongmin had ever seen. But now, he was entirely lifeless, mind limp and body exhausted. As much as he despised their position, and as much as he wished things were different, he still hoped the boy was taking care of himself – he was still _vulnerable_ , still human enough that things like food and water and sleep were incredibly valuable, no matter how heartless he may actually be.

But he wasn’t, was he? Heartless, he means.

Bin had grabbed his wrist as he went to leave the room, tugging him back, stopping him. Dongmin swallowed down his groan of defeat, knowing that whatever came next would leave him breathless, leaving him quaking in his boots, no doubt. Bin tried to stare deep into his eyes – God, Dongmin missed those eyes – but Dongmin looked away before he could get sucked in. Bin was good at that. Sucking people in with his eyes. They were unbelievably alluring, could coax in even the hardest-shelled person. Even after everything, Dongmin was still a sucker for the deep brown shades he found there.

Bin wasn’t _heartless,_ because why would he have any way of knowing what Jin Jin was capable of? Bin wasn’t in charge of him, wasn’t in control of the actions his friends made. With the way Bin stared at him now, Dongmin wondered why he had even stopped talking to him in the first place. He was about to speak, could feel the words prepare themselves on the tip of his tongue, but then something jolted him from deep inside his mind. _His logic_. His logic was there, yelling over top of his hearts speaking, the fumbling it made inside his chest. It yelled so loud that it was all he could hear, and it scared the words from his tongue back down his throat, back into the part of his brain that held all his dictation. 

With his hand wrapped around his wrist, Dongmin’s control was weakened, but he still held strong. He had to bite his gums a little harder and clench his toes tighter in his shoes, but he held _on._ Bin, surprisingly, didn’t say anything all. Instead, he let go of his wrist without a word, and unclenched his fingers. The feel of his own hand against his was enough to make him tingle all over, and he was so sure Bin could feel it, too. The hairs on his arms were standing on pointe, tall and long and electric. He felt _sick,_ but then Bin’s fingers were gone, and in the place where his palm was once empty, holding nothing but air, there was a red flyer with black print, and Bin was already out the door before he could register what had just happened.

 

He floats between his classes, head way up above, in the clouds, as he tries to read the flyer. He reads it, but his brain can’t process the words. It goes in, and then right back out again. He rereads it over and over, trying to grasp it, but _can’t._ The hallways are too cramped, the work load to heavy, eyes even heavier. It’s not until he’s making his way outside that he drags the flyer out of his blazer pocket again. The red sheet is rumbled from the way he had been clinging to it all morning, and though it was still legible, some of the printed ink had started to rub and had transferred across the page in a black, inky smudge. He was able to process it now, though. Maybe it was the fresh air, or the large reduction in students – but the moment he was standing in front of the tree, he was able to grasp the words on the sheet.

MJ was already sitting under the tree, Sanha stretched out long and thin on the lawn beside him. Dongmin had already dropped his bag to the ground, the weight lifting off his shoulders, but his hand still unsteadily held the flyer in his hand. The words were a bit of a shock to him, considering he had never thought Bin would give him this – given what had, _or hadn’t_ , happened between them in the past few weeks.

Dongmin recalls telling Bin that the next time he had a dance recital, he’d _go_. They were friends, he remembers saying, and that’s what friends _did._ They supported each other. Dongmin’s pretty sure he had even promised him.

So, when Sanha asks him what’s wrong – say’s he looks like he’d seen a ghost, or that in fact he was pale enough to _be_ one – he just numbly hands over the red flyer, and sinks to his knees on the grass, not caring if his trousers stain.

 

It was the first time he had been back to Sanha’s since the afternoon with Bin, but even after so long, it was still as inviting as it had been that day. He knew Bin was already home, had seen him get off the same bus as they had been on, speed walk well ahead of them. Sanha, MJ and Dongmin had walked slower than normal, stuck to one side of the footpath to allow others to pass by them easily, in the hopes to avoid the boy entirely. When they entered the house, the lights were on, and Bin’s music could be heard downstairs in the studio. For a moment, Dongmin imagines the skilled movements Bin would be making downstairs, in the technicoloured studio, sweat transferring from his skin to his thing t-shirt. Dongmin wondered if Bin thought about him, upstairs, so close yet so very far, socialising with his _brother_ , who didn’t speak to him anymore. He wondered if Bin hated him for turning his family against him, for making him lose the younger brother he dearly loved. Dongmin didn’t dwell too long on the thought, though, because he could feel his spirits deflating, and he didn’t need that right now.

They filed into Sanha’s bedroom, kicking off their shoes and collapsing onto his bed. Their limbs were sprawled lazily atop the duvet, legs and arms tangling together, MJ’s head on Sanha’s chest, Sanha’s across his own lap. It was a messy pile of limbs, but it was remarkably comforting despite the awkwardness his limbs were directed. It was comforting because these were his two best friends, who supported him as much as he did them, and with everything happening right, he was so very grateful he had them.

A little while later, when it started to fall dark outside, and Sanha’s room filled with shadows, Dongmin realised that the three of them were in that place halfway between awake and asleep. If he had to guess, Dongmin would predict it was around five pm now. Which meant he had to ask now, or forget all about it.

“Are we going?”

Sanha’s head twitched in his lap a little. Dongmin guesses his voice had startled him. He feels the younger shrug against him, his shoulder rubbing against his stomach. MJ hummed, then sighed deeply.

“I told him I would.”

Sanha squirmed, “what? When?”

Dongmin twiddled with Sanha’s hair. “Before his last recital. I told him I’d go to the next one.” He paused, looked down towards MJ, who was looking at him curiously. “I told him that that was what friends did.”

The curiosity in MJ’s eyes slipped down, into something much softer, maybe even a little disappointed if Dongmin read them correctly (which he usually did). Dongmin thinks he’s going to say something, but he closes his mouth, presses his lips down together tightly.

Sanha speaks instead. “Do _you_ want to go?”

Dongmin contemplates that for a while. _Does_ he want to go? Once again, there’s a battle in his body, a constant war between his heart and his logic. It’s a push and it’s a pull, it’s a yes and it’s a no, it’s a fully-blown _I don’t know_ anymore because Dongmin isn’t sure he knows himself like he used to. He feels like he’s built from contradictions and hyperboles and whatever _damn_ else, and he can’t place it anymore. Can’t fight this war anymore. So, he decides to be honest. Instead of war, he chooses the first step towards peace, maybe, but it also means the first step towards defeat.

“I think I’d like to.”

But that was so selfish of him, wasn’t it? Just because _he_ wanted to go, didn’t mean Sanha and MJ wanted to, or had to go, too. He didn’t want to go alone, but he just wouldn’t go. It was unfair to the others, too selfish, too _much_ to ask of them. MJ wasn’t speaking with Jin Jin for obvious reasons, Sanha with Minhyuk, too, and it was downright cruel for him to expect them to go. But his friends were full of suprises, because MJ wordlessly went over to Sanha’s wardrobe, pushed through the hangers for a few seconds before retrieving the item he was looking for. It was Sanha’s tan leather jacket, something he’d never actually seen on the boy, because Sanha thought it wasn’t really his thing. But MJ tugged it from the hanger, and threw it across to the boy now.

“If we’re doing this,” he said, voice clear and surprisingly confident, “we’re going to look hot doing so.” There was a follow-up of silence, and then Dongmin and Sanha fell into a fit of childish giggles, MJ following suit a few seconds later.

 

Dongmin thinks it’s lucky that the three of them are the same size, because he had been considering starting his own wardrobe at both of the boy’s houses. Though, with Sanha’s clothes, the legs were a tiny bit too long, and with MJ, far too short. But, he made it work, because he’d much rather that than wear his uniform. The three of them piled out of Sanha’s room and into the living room, where they quickly grabbed their wallets and phones from their school bags, and hurried out the front door to where their taxi was waiting. MJ had called for one when he saw that it was nearing six pm – the show was set to start at half six – and they scrambled to get ready within the five-minute period it would take for the cab to arrive. Bin was long gone, and Dongmin guessed the boy thought they weren’t going to be in attendance. He couldn’t figure out if it was a good thing or not.

The taxi ride felt long and kind of awkward, like most taxi rides were, but he could feel the tension rising and falling between them. It wasn’t that there was between them in the sense that they were angry or arguing or anything of the life; tension was there because they were all thinking the same thing: _what the hell are we doing?_

Sure, Dongmin had told Bin he’d be at his next performance, but that had been before what Jin Jin had allowed his parents to say about MJ, before Jin Jin had _agreed_ with them, before everything hit the fan and fell back around them in thousands of tiny pieces. The friendship and mutual admiration they’d created, this life they had established in just a few days, was broken and so badly damaged, Dongmin wasn’t entirely sure it was repairable. But still, his heart chanted over and over that everything was fixable to an extent. Maybe it wouldn’t look the same, but it would function just as well over time. (Logic, though. Logic won out. Just like Dongmin said it would weeks ago).

When the taxi pulled up at the venue, Dongmin handed over his card, tapped it, and then hurried out of the standing vehicle. They scurried inside, trying their best to not get their makeup-covered faces wet from the rains. Though the monsoon was in its dregs, it had brought on more rains swooping down from neighbouring nations, and the humidity was not quite so thick, but blanketed Seoul enough to make Dongmin’s skin still feel permanently sticky. It was five minutes to half past six, they were later than they had intended, the traffic on the bypass heavier than they had thought – so the fare had been more expensive and it had taken more time than usual. So, here they stood, in the practically empty lobby of the dance theatre that Bin’s club frequented, half saturated from the heavy rain and from nervous anticipation.

Despite this, they did in fact, look ‘hot’ – he supposes at least. Sanha looked much older and far more mature than he’d ever seen him in the leather jacket, his long, slender legs wrapped in dark denim, a low-scooping t-shirt exposing his collarbones. Dongmin had sort of faltered in his step when Sanha had stepped out of the bathroom, wearing what he was, because he’d never noticed how handsome Sanha truly was – and he was positive Minhyuk was going to react similarly, if not worse, and when that thought occurred him, Dongmin realised that that was what Sanha was going for. It was completely different to what he usually wore, not necessarily in a _bad_ way. It was just very, very different, and he was positive everyone who knew him would notice it. MJ looked like his usual self, though maybe a bit more put together, like he had put in much more thought. Which he had. He’d added a bit more product to his hair than he normally would, so the curls had much more volume, and hung in his eyes. He didn’t wear smile, though, so instead of looking like sunshine, he looked broody and smouldering and Dongmin had applauded him on his appearance. Despite the fact that he cared a shit load, MJ looked like he didn’t – he looked effortless and unbothered, which was what he was aiming for, and he’d succeed with flying colours. Dongmin himself wore simple black jeans and a high neck shirt, a button up over top of it, falling loose and unbuttoned at his side. They looked organised and put together and like they frequented these type of events a lot, except maybe their lateness and half disoriented expressions gave them away.

They followed the dregs of the people filing into the auditorium, scanning the crowd for three empty seats. Dongmin spotted three near the back, and was about to point it out to them, when he heard someone yell out.

“ _Sanha_?”

It was Minhyuk. Dongmin recognised the quiet lull of the voice, the soft and shy undertones, recognised his face even more. He was a few rows back from the stage, not far from where they had entered the theatre, and he looked so taken aback by Sanha’s appearance, Dongmin was sure he was going to catch flies in his gaping mouth. Dongmin threw a hesitant glance to Sanha, whose face was unsurprisingly red, who looked just as surprised as Minhyuk to see him standing there. Dongmin glanced behind him now, to where Jin Jin was standing, eyes fixed on the appalling red pattered carpet, screaming out from the 60’s where it belonged, and his mouth and eyes were as wide as each other. He’d seen them, then, and was feeling the same sort of feelings MJ was feeling. The latter was frozen beside him, eyes watching the swirls in the carpet, too, hoping to find answers there, but finding nothing. _Because Minhyuk had started to speak again_ , but Dongmin felt a rush in his ears as the lights started to din, because of course, it was half past, and it was show time. Dongmin heard the voice of the usher directing them to their seats, felt a hand on his lower back guiding him into the row of seats where Jin Jin and Minhyuk were, where there just so happened to be enough seats for all of them to sit. Dongmin wasn’t sure if they had planned this – had saved an extra three seats just in case they had showed up – but the shock on both the boy’s faces made Dongmin second guess.

Once seated, everything felt more electric and noticeable in the darkness. MJ was to his left, Sanha to his right, and he’s thankful that he’s between the two friends so that he didn’t have to be beside the other two, but that meant his friends were. To MJ’s side was Jin Jin, and the tension between them could cut _glass_ , and Dongmin could hear the slow murmur of Minhyuk’s voice in Sanha’s ear, who sat to the younger’s right. Dongmin was caught in the middle, once again, and felt like everything that had ever gone wrong was entirely his fault.

He should have never left his home town. He should never have let his Dad drag them out here because of some prestigious law firm, some highly sought-after case. Surely, his family’s happiness meant more to him – Dongmin scoffed inwardly, he knew it meant more to him. Dongmin had just never mentioned his distaste for Seoul to him lately, didn’t have the heart to crush his Dad’s happiness, so how was his Dad to know? He thinks his Mum suspects as much, but as usual, she knew that if Dongmin wanted to talk about it, he’d bring it up with her. His silence about the topic meant he very much wished to remain quiet about it.

The recital had a few showcases, not just Bin’s group. There were a few rival’s school’s groups, too, though the comradery between them was borderline _cute_. They obviously knew each other well, had performance many times against each other, and every time Bin appeared on stage, smile wide and eyes glistening underneath the attention of the spotlights, Dongmin’s breath got caught in his throat. He was a different person up there, movements smooth and practiced and _lithe,_ unlike anything Dongmin had seen. He’d been to ballet’s before, but had never seen anything contemporary like this, so maybe he didn’t have a lot to compare it too, but Bin was _good._ More than good. He was great, fantastic, _perfect_ , even.

The others must have thought as much too, because MJ was gripping at his wrist, squeezing every time Dongmin felt his eyes widen a little, when Bin did a move particularly tantalizing. On his right, Sanha was more open with his amazement. He’d seen Bin dance before, he was sure of it, but the admiration present in his eyes told Dongmin that he was probably the boys biggest fan, more so than Jin Jin and Minhyuk. Speaking of those two, they were relatively quiet throughout the event, but he could feel their wary glances his way every now and then, he had to fight the urge to cuss at them, or worse.

He thought it was drawing to a close after forty minutes, and his suspicions were confirmed when the MC announced the final showcase. It was a group performance, a sort of _thank you for coming_ performance, which would not be marked nor awarded, was merely a send-off piece the clubs had gotten together to learn cooperatively. They five of them clapped, Jin Jin and Minhyuk’s louder than theirs were combined, but it would have been rude not to clap. Surrounded by so much love and support, it was impossible to not feel some of that for Bin, too. If Dongmin tried hard enough, he could pretend none of this had ever happened, that Bin was one his best friends, that Jin Jin and Minhyuk were, too. It was such a nice vision, too. To pretend that nothing had ever hurt them, that Bin hadn’t crushed him, that Jin Jin hadn’t taken advantage of MJ’s willingness to forgive, that Minhyuk hadn’t somewhat sided with them and lost Sanha’s trust. To imagine that they were all affection and in love and in happiness with each other was such a beautiful _image,_ that Dongmin’s eyes involuntarily began to well up. He was thankful for the darkness again, because it meant no one would notice it, wouldn’t notice the way he rubbed at his eyes a little hastily, full of panic, to avoid sobbing out loud. It felt weird, the five of them sitting together. It felt like the lunch table again, minus Bin of course. _Weird_ because it was the same sort of thing, sitting side by side and voluntarily spending time together, choosing to be friends, choosing to talk and laugh and be pleasantly surprised by each other’s personalities. But he didn’t feel it quite the same. It didn’t sit quite right underneath his skin; felt like his bones were angled incorrectly, like his organs were jumbled up inside of him. He felt _wrong_. Everything felt wrong.

But nothing felt as wrong as hearing the opening notes of a piano playing in the centre of the stage, said piano being played by none other than Bin himself.

It was a puzzling sight, actually. Seeing a dancer playing the piano, and making no move to actually dance. The tune was familiar, elegant and wispy, and it took him a moment to recognise it completely. By the time the other dancers had come on stage in their positions, movements impeccably synchronised, Dongmin was able to place the tune as the same song he’d sung at the wedding. Upon knowing this, Dongmin had never tensed so hard in his life.

MJ and Sanha were stiff by his side, too, and he knew Jin Jin and Minhyuk would be also. Everyone knew the tune, and Dongmin could feel the glances being thrown his way. But it wasn’t the tune that got to Dongmin the most – it was Bin’s expression. He couldn’t see his face in its entirety, and his eyes were closed so whatever expressed sat there was unreadable, but the pain and desperation and the utmost _passion_ that contorted itself on the remainder of his face was startling. It was enough to make Dongmin feel the exact same thing, enough for him to feel his hands shake in his lap, his palms sweat. The professionalism in Bin’s fingers, the way they glided across the keys, made Dongmin aware of just how good Bin _was_ at the piano. It was the first time he’d heard him play, and he thinks it’s going to be the last too, because Dongmin would surely die before this song was done.

He just couldn’t stop feeling it. The music combined with the graceful movements of the dancers, the awed audience watching with delight and pain, feeling what they were all feeling. Dongmin felt like the theatre was shrinking and the temperature rising, and when the final note of the piano echoed empty and sad into the silent theatre, Dongmin was already out of his seat. His friends either side of him thought, at first, that he was giving a standing ovation. The moment they saw his face, though, they realised it was quite the opposite. Dongmin’s expression matched that of Bin’s – hurt and pained and irreparably _torn_ – and before MJ or Sanha could say anything to him, stop him from thinking whatever it was he was thinking, Dongmin was already scrambling past them, breathing frantic, eyes wet and throat clenching and unclenching around dry, heart-wrenching sobs.

 

Dongmin returned to his own bedroom, pulling the covers over his head, before shutting of his phone – and praying, _wishing_ , that he could shut off his feelings, too.

 

He sleeps well into Saturday afternoon. When his eyes open, it’s with much regret – Dongmin wanted to curl back in on himself, fall back asleep, because at least then none of this would feel quite so real. He had dreamt it. The performance replaying over and over in his head, but instead of it feeling like a nightmare, it had felt much more peaceful than that. It was more of a dream, and Dongmin wanted to live there instead of his painful reality.

He wasn’t sure why the song had gotten to him as much as it had. Wasn’t sure why the lyrics of the song played in his head in time to the keys of the piano, but in his dream, he was up there with Bin, singing it while he played. Dongmin wanted nothing more than for this nightmare – his real life – to be over, so that he could drown back into his dreams, where life really didn’t hurt so bad. Where everything made a little more sense.

But that was why they were called dreams. More often than not, they were unrealistic. And so very easily interrupted, especially what with the way his bedroom door flies open now, revealing a panting and sympathetic looking MJ, and an exhausted looking Sanha behind him. Dongmin grunts, pushes his blankets down a little, exposing more of his face. Judging by the softening of their expressions around the edges, he looked just as bad as he felt.

The longer he looks at them, the longer the silence pans out, the more his vision starts to blur. He can feel the prick behind his eyes, feel the familiar sting that meant tears were on their way. But he was _done_ crying. He was sick of it. He had heard from MJ a while back, when Jin Jin had hurt him that second time, that eventually crying does nothing but hurt you more. Dongmin hurt enough as it was – though, really, he was entirely sure why – so he didn’t need an exorbitant number of tears worsening it. So, he pushes himself up onto his elbows, and then shuffles across the bed so that he can lean his body against the wall. Sanha and MJ immediately snuck into the free space on the bed after kicking off their shoes, slipping under the covers. Sanha pressed his cold toes against his thigh, hoping that Dongmin would let him keep them there, provide him warmth.

At first, Dongmin jumped, slapping the younger boy, but made no move to shove him away. They seeped into silence after that, Dongmin listening to the evening out of their breathing, the way Sanha’s grip on his hip loosened as he fell into unconsciousness, as MJ’s own breathing softened and grew silent. Dongmin watched his two best friends sleep close and warm beside him, knew that none of the words they knew could provide him any type of comfort – knowing full well that all they had to offer was this. Support. Cuddles. Skinship, they called it. Something that Dongmin and MJ were fond of, something he didn’t know Sanha was quite so aware of. He was so very thankful, because it eased him back into sleep, back into the very same dream.

The next time he woke though, was because his neck was cramping and he felt tense in his shoulders. He didn’t open his eyes, just shifted his body a little, feeling two sets of arms shift along with him. He was awoken for only a moment, but long enough to hear the distant mumble of his television, making him wonder how long he had been asleep – making him wonder if the other two were awake, watching movies while he slept. He didn’t dwell too long on the thought, though, because he was asleep again within minutes.

The third time he woke up, there were tears on his pillow, and although he couldn’t recall the dream he’d had, he was sure it was the same one as the first two times. This time, though, he knew he wouldn’t fall back asleep. He knew it was late at night, or perhaps very early morning, because behind his closed lids there were no bursts of colour that would suggest daylight. There were no sounds of the TV either, or of his two friends – but there were still hands wrapped around him, so he assumed they were still there.

He didn’t open his eyes at first. He was preparing himself, physically and emotionally, for what lay ahead. They’d want answers. They’d want to know why he left, why he left _crying_ , why it had hit him quite so hard. His whole life just felt like one huge mess right now, so he held onto the darkness his closed eyes provided him for a couple of minutes longer, bathing in the calmness.

“We know you’re awake, Minnie.” That was Sanha’s voice, and it was right by his ear. It had startled him, but it hadn’t been loud enough to make him physically jump. He slowly opened his eyes, realising he was no longer facing the wall, but facing out towards his room. He was staring straight into Sanha’s eyes, whose head lay resting beside his, and behind him, propped up on a pillow, was MJ. Both boys looked impeccably _soft_ , and calmer and more at peace that Dongmin thought they’d be. They didn’t look exhausted or anxious like they had when they arrived earlier. In fact, they looked _happy._ Which was _nice_ ; Dongmin liked the happiness. He just wasn’t sure what he was missing out on.

He inhaled deep and long, let it all out in one big rush before speaking. “What’s going on?”

“We should be the ones asking _you_ that.” MJ’s voice. It didn’t sound thick with sleep, so Dongmin knew he hadn’t just woken up. Sanha didn’t say anything, just look across at him, eyes searching and questioning.

His throat felt dry and scratchy as he spoke. “What do you want to know?” He knew it pointless to ask, because he already knew what they wanted to know – but he asked anyway, because he felt small and vulnerable under their gaze.

“We know why you left the theatre. We get it. We _do._ It’s just,” Sanha stops, trails off and turns his head so he can look at MJ behind him. He turns back around, “we just want to know if _you_ know.”

He knew. Of course, he knew. Surely, they knew he knew – but MJ’s curious eyes implied otherwise; Sanha’s inquisitive tone suggest that perhaps no, they really didn’t know, and that actually, he wasn’t as obvious as he thought. He didn’t know when the moment hit him. Wasn’t sure if it happened right then and there, or if it had happened earlier without him realising it. Whatever it was, though, it felt thick and vicious under his skin, mixing around in his blood flow as if it had always been there.

“I think,” _I know,_ “I love him.”

There it was. The words he’d shoved so deep down inside of him that they actually refused to exist for a while there. Words so obscure and unsolicited, that they made no sense to him anymore. He barely knew the boy, _Bin,_ so how could he love him? Was it his mind that he loved, or was it his soul? Did his logic love him as much as his heart did, or did his heart sing this love all alone?  He didn’t know what was going on, didn’t know if he even wanted to know, but he felt sick and happy at the same time at the confession, couldn’t tell if it was relief or regret he was feeling now.

Sanha cooed a little, MJ smirking. “We know,” he said, eyes coy – too coy for someone with a broken heart. Dongmin narrowed his eyes.

“What’s going on?” He asked again, voice more suspicious and commanding than before. Sanha’s face looked slightly red, redder than a normal sleepy flush, and MJ’s fingers were tangling together like he did when he was nervous. “Guys. What’s going on?” deeper now, dominating, he’d hoped.

It worked, though, because Sanha groaned, face falling into his hands. “Just _tell him,_ MJ.”

Dongmin slapped his hands down on the duvet. “Tell me _what?_ ”

MJ huffed, shuffled forward a little, so he could drag Sanha up into a sitting position beside him. Now, all three were at eye level, Sanha a tiny bit higher than the two of them. “It’s a long story. And you can’t get mad okay?”

“Why would I get m—”

“Shhh!” Sanha said, eyes wide. “No interrupting until he’s done, okay?” Dongmin nodded, letting his head fall back comfortably against his wall. He made a movement to show himself zipping his lips shut, before throwing away the key, and letting his hands fall limp in his lap.

Dongmin knew from the very moment that MJ had finally introduced himself that day in class that he was going to be _chatty._ Dongmin loved it, because he, too, was secretly chatty. Loved the soothing relief speaking had on him, how talking about anything could ease his anxiety, make him feel included, clear his head enough for him to focus on life a little more. He truly noticed this chattiness though now, with MJ’s hands moving animatedly around him as he recalls the night’s events. Dongmin obeys, listens silently and without interrupting once.

“Dongmin, you ran off because you heard the song that Bin was playing – ran off because you thought that maybe it was a jab at you, or something. Like maybe he knew that you had feelings for him – don’t deny it, Dongmin, I’m your best friend, I can see that you like him more than you told me you did at first. This is more than physical attraction, my friend. It’s okay. I get it. Anyways, _you ran off,_ and I get it. We both get it. Sanha and I would have probably done the exact same thing. But, shit, Dongmin, I wished you had stayed. _I wish you had stayed_ , because, well, Bin made a _speech_. He made a speech about _you_ actually. Well, not _you_ , but _for you._ He didn’t say your name or anything, and we hadn’t been able to film the entire thing because it came as a bit of a shock – but we got most of it. We’ll play it for you, _don’t give me that look, we will play it,_ just let me finish first.”

“After you ran off, Jinny wanted to go after you. He thought that this whole thing was his fault at the end of the day. Which, to be fair, it _was._ I stopped him though. As much as I didn’t want to utter a single word to him, I knew you wanted – needed – to be alone. So, Sanha and I went to leave, too, but they kept stopping us. Followed us all the way to the taxi stand, wouldn’t let us leave until they got a word in.”

Sanha interrupted him, “tell him what Jinny said.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to that bit,” MJ said, nudging the boy beside him. “ _Jinny said_ lots of things, to be honest, a lot of it kind of lost to me now. He stumbles over his words a lot, but basically, he said the night of the dinner, after I left, he had broken with his parents. Apparently, he’d gotten furious at them, had turned sort of violent, too. They were throwing plates and Jinny was swearing at them, and they were banishing him to hell along with me. He came out to them, Minnie. He did it that same night I left. He said to me that the moment I left that door, he could _tell_ he was going to lose me. He knew, actually, that he’d _already_ lost me.”

MJ’s voice was wavering a bit now, like the whole thing was still unbelievable to him. Dongmin was having a hard time fulfilling his promise of not interrupting, because the entire rant was eating away at him.

“After the fight, he grabbed a bag of his shit, and went straight to Rocky’s. He’s been living in their spare room ever since the dinner.” He paused, biting his bottom lip, hesitating on something. “Minnie, I.” Another pause. “I didn’t forgive him. Haven’t forgiven him, won’t for a while. And I won’t forget this time, either. He’s hurt me too many times for me to forget the pain now. _But shit,_ Minnie. Minnie maybe one day I _could_ forgive and forget. Maybe one day I’ll be able to do it, be able to wake up next to him and not think of what he did to me. I’ll open my eyes and stare at him sleeping beside me, and think only of the good things we’ve done. I want that Min. _I_ _want that,”_ he fumbled with the blanket, and Dongmin wouldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“He asked me if I wanted to go to the diner, the place we used to go together before I officially came out to him. We had so many memories there, beautiful memories. I love that place. But when he asked, the idea of going there felt sickening to me. Like we were trying to repeat ourselves, like we could reverse everything that had happened and pretend like it never existed. I couldn’t bring myself to agree to going there. Because all this shit? It _has_ happened, and there’s not a damn thing any of us can do to change that. So, I said I wanted to go somewhere else instead. Start new memories. Not forget the old ones, not just yet, but start fresh so that maybe this whole mess could one day be cleaned up.”

MJ forced his eyes to stare into Dongmin’s, who could clearly see the depth of his words there. MJ believed what he was saying. MJ believed that Jin Jin would one day redeem himself, and while they had thought this entire time ever since the wedding, for the first time, Dongmin actually believed it, too. Not just forced himself to, but felt the belief in his bones, in the way MJ surely was right now. Because MJ knew not to forget. Knew not to forgive. But knew to let him try.

“Nothing is perfect, Minnie. Nothing. Not a damn thing, whatever this relationship I have with Jinny is included. We’re so damn flawed, so damaged and battered. But Minnie, _that’s life._ Maybe it won’t work. Maybe it’ll all fall to shit again, like it has three times now. But I’m nothing if not hopeful, and I’ve got to at least try.” There was a silence, Sanha’s eyes searching his again, MJ’s fluttering with understanding.

“And maybe Minnie…maybe you should try, too.”

 

After the video ended, Dongmin allowed himself to weep a little. He allowed Sanha and MJ to wrap their arms securely around him again, let him sob into their shoulders, dampen the material of their t-shirts without care. They knew he was crying because he had come to terms with what was going on in his heart and in his head. His logic had finally succumbed to the blades of his heart, and never did Dongmin ever think it would win. But Dongmin _loved_ Bin – and perhaps Bin loved him, too, if his words were any indication. The realisation of such love was a new, but the feeling itself wasn’t. It felt decades old; like something he’d been in possession of since the moment he set eyes on the boy. He knew that couldn’t be true though; he wasn’t a believer in love at first sight, but he couldn’t pinpoint he moment it happened either.

So maybe it _was_ real. Maybe the fairy-tales were telling the truth. Maybe the romance movies and the novels were right; maybe fireworks did exist when you kissed the love of your life, that the fluttering in your gut you feel when you see them means much more than you could ever predict. Dongmin craved the feeling of Bin’s hand in his more than ever before, wanted to know what that felt like, wanted to know what being held but the person you were in love with felt like. He wanted _that life_ , wasn’t sure if he deserved it, not sure if he would ever get it.

He knew what he had to do though. He knew he had to _try,_ like MJ had said, like MJ himself had _done_ with Jin Jin. He wished Bin would do it instead, because he was weak and nervous and terrified of all the things he was feeling, but Bin had made his move – the video he replayed to himself for the rest of the day was proof of that. It was _his_ move. If he wanted anything to become of this, it was his turn.

MJ and Sanha had left not long after showing the video, after Dongmin’s tears had stopped. They left with a kiss on either cheek, texting the video to him so he could watch it again if he wanted, _needed._ And he _needed to._ He needed it watch it over and over, and he did, until the words were like a script he’d memorised to him. He watched it until he knew every line, every rise and fall of his tone, his chest, and when he could close his eyes and repeat it in exact coordination of Bin himself, that’s when Dongmin pushed himself from his bed, and into the shower.

 

The video wasn’t the best quality, was wobbly and rushed, and caught Bin speaking mid-sentence. MJ had said as such earlier during his spiel, but he had also said that they caught most of it, and that the message was still clear.

“—my mother bought it for me. She bought me my first piano and paid for my lessons, too. She told me that one day I could be a _big star_. When she started to…hit me, I guess I never really stopped and realised how _wrong_ that was. Because she kept teaching me how to be _great_ , so surely the way she hit me was keeping me great, too. She was teaching me over and over again how to be this amazing pianist who would go far one day. The day she left for good – when Dad said she wasn’t going to hurt me anymore – was the day I stopped playing. I felt like I lost the one thing I was good at. I lost my teacher, I lost the compliments about how great I was, _so I just stopped._ But _Jesus Christ, you_ – you know who _you_ are – you make me want to be good again.”

The video showed Bin crying, but smiling a little through his tears, wet and snotty and extremely gross. But he wiped furiously at the back of his eyes were his hands, choking up and laughing in embarrassment.

“I treated you and your friends like crap. _I_ know that. _You_ know that. But I hope one day you can see that it wasn’t really _me._ And that’s such a lame thing to say, especially with what I’ve done to you. But I’ve been so many people before. I’ve tried to be so many things, but this is me. Standing right _here_ , and I don’t even know if you’re here right now. But you said you’d be here, once. You said you’d be at my next show.”

There was a crackling of the microphone, and then the camera wavers a bit, and Sanha’s sniffling could be beard in the background before the camera straightens up again.

“My mother made me think that being the best at something was the only important thing in life. So, when she left, I realised that I wasn’t going to be the best anymore. But, I’ve realised, since meeting you, that being the best at piano doesn’t mean _anything_. Being the best at chemistry or lab work or dancing or _whatever_ doesn’t mean _anything_. All that matters to _me,_ is that I’m the best damn version of me there can be. And without you, I don’t think I’d have ever found out who that was.”

There was a heavy silence, both from Bin and from the audience, both parties unsure if the speech was done. It wasn’t though, because Bin stepped forward again, hand holding the base of the microphone where it stood on its stand.

“And _Jesus_ , you made me want to play again… _you made me want to live again._ ”

His first stop was a florist. It was small and kind of tacky, but their roses were pristine and beautiful and the deepest shade of red. They were a symbol, he guessed. People normally gave people they loved roses, but it was also something you were meant to give someone after a performance – something that Dongmin should have done the other night, something a good friend would have done. But with everything that had happened, it had never been something that had occurred to him. Now, though. _Now_ it was all he could think about. He had never hailed a taxi so hurriedly in his life, either, nor had he felt so frantic in his skin. He gave them the address to Sanha’s, jiggled his leg in anticipation, clutching the bouquet in his hands. His anxiety was rising and falling in his chest, in time with his breathing, and he hadn’t thought of texting Sanha to ask if Bin was even home. He just needed to get there, needed this out of his system. He prayed, over and over, that the boy was home, that the boy was willing to listen to him.

When the taxi stopped out front, and he paid his fare, he suddenly became aware of how ridiculous he looked. He had haphazardly thrown on whatever he could find – dirty blue jeans and a ratty old t-shirt that he usually wore to bed. He looked undone and rushed and looked exactly how he felt, so he deemed it both perfect and not right at the same time. He was here, though, and that’s what mattered most. The anxiety was heaving in his bones, the world sloshing around in his ears like a muffled ocean, and his hands were shaking as he held onto the flowers for support.

He banged on the front door a little louder than he had intended, and it rattled against its frame. His foot was tapping in anticipation as he waited for signs of life, a sign of anything, but _no one came._ He knocked again, over and over, much like he’d done he other week when he came over to find Bin downstairs—

He pushed himself away from the door, and hurried down the side of the house, towards the driveway. Down here, it was closer to the basement, and he pressed his ear against the brick wall, straining his hearing that much farther until— _he could feel it._ He couldn’t really hear the music, but he could feel the slight vibrations that rattled the bricks. The music was loud, but not as loud as it had been in the past – where he could often hear it out on the street, swelling up from the underground, and filling up his pores with electronic mania. This time though, it was a dull roar – built from vibration and feeling than noise and words. He hurried back up the side to the door, where he let himself in, the door unlocked like the other week. It felt very similar too. He was struck with a nauseating rush of déjà vu, though that could have just been his anxiety playing tricks on him again. He didn’t bother to announce himself further, the house was silent and dark aside from the pulse of downstairs, which was more obvious now that he was indoors.

He scrambled through the kitchen, over to the basement door, hand on the knob, and _stopped._ He was panicking, and he looked a right mess, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now. In his hand was a bouquet of roses, and downstairs was the boy he loved. They came from two different worlds, yes, maybe, but these worlds weren’t too far apart anymore. They used to run parallel, seeing each other but never close enough to touch. But even planets change, even galaxies run their course. Things shift, life evolves, and now they were on a collision course that Dongmin couldn’t help but think was _fate._

This was his last chance, though. His last chance to finally speak the words he’d ought to have said weeks ago. This was his last chance to back out – to back _in_ even. He knew he had to do it. He had to do it despite everything that had happened. He had to do it, because despite the things that Bin had once supported, had once allowed Jin Jin to say to MJ, he had grown from that in the way people grow from grief. Back when MJ had come out, Jin Jin’s reaction was inexcusable – though, to some extent, given his upbringing, it was _understandable._ And Bin had supported that, agreed with it. With Minhyuk’s sexuality coming to light, though, everything changed. The planets shifted again. They rose up only to fall again, twisting and turning adjusting so that Minhyuk fell comfortably in their rotation.

And then everything after that.

Jin Jin’s internalised homophobia eating him alive, his jealousy lashing out and turning him back into the monster he thought he’d left behind. The wedding and the dancing and the kiss on the hand, the way Bin tried over and over to be his friend, how he regretted everything he’d ever done to betray him, to go against him. The way until the very end, Bin took the blame – even though, to an extent, he had no idea what he was apologising for. Bin took the blame for Dongmin’s loyalty to MJ. Dongmin stopped his friendship – or whatever it was – with Bin solely for the strength and stability and love he had for MJ. And he didn’t regret it, no, not at all, he’d do it again for the boy – but all of this, this ridiculousness, everything that’s panned up to this, made him realise that he didn’t _need_ to _._ MJ had never expected him too, instead, he just assumed that was what was expected of him. He did it without reasoning, because Jin Jin is his own person, is responsible for his own actions, but somewhere along the way Dongmin had forgotten that, had forgotten who Bin had allowed himself to become – who he said Dongmin had let him become.

So, with that, he breathed in, and pushed the door of the basement open.

It was hazy and loud and booming and _bright_ , brighter than last time, even. And Dongmin had an entire speech practiced. He was sure of it. He remembers rehearsing into the mirror at home as he struggled to put his shoes on. A speech that could, if he performed it well enough, rival Bin’s own the night of the performance. But seeing Bin now, standing directly across from him, chest rising and falling and loud pants telling him that he was out of breath, made Dongmin lose his words in their entirety.

  
He didn’t know what life was made of anymore. Didn’t know if it was good or bad or where he sat on that spectrum. He didn’t know if Bin was right or if he was wrong; didn’t know if Minhyuk and Sanha had made up, if they’d kissed yet, if they’d made amends; didn’t know if Jin Jin had treated MJ right at the new restaurant they’d decided to go to, if those new memories would be worthwhile; didn’t know where he stood with Bin, or if they were even standing. Maybe they were swimming, or drowning, or perhaps they were even flying. He doesn’t know, and he’s not sure he wants too – because this whole time he had been expecting the worst of people, of Bin, waiting for the moment that everything went wrong, and wasting so much of the good when it came by him.

He didn’t know much of anything, really, and had no hope too anytime soon. Because the sweating boy in front of him was suddenly standing a whole lot closer, his breathing _heavy_ and _noisy_ yet relaxing all the same.  Dongmin didn’t understand this or that or anything else other than this very thing, that Dongmin loved this boy, loved his hair and his hands and his heart, too, loved the scars that were probably marked around his body. Loved the fact that with just one simple look, Dongmin was completely gone – that he could say nothing at all, yet Dongmin knew exactly what he was thinking.

Dongmin thrusts the flowers into Bin’s chest, not caring if they wilted or bruised or tore, because that was exactly what Dongmin and Bin were. Torn and damaged, but _shit_ , still so beautiful. Bin rushes forward at the same time he does, and their lips meet, two planets finally colliding, decades of aimless spinning and turning finally making _meaning_ from _nothing._

The roses are crushed between them much like his heart once had been, much like MJ’s still sort of was, like Sanha’s might one day be, but the thorns had been trimmed off, and he was no longer bleeding.

 

Much later, when the light had dimmed and the playlist ran silent, Dongmin traced the shimmery lines of abuse on the outskirts of Bin’s body, the naked planes spread out before him in ways that were once sort of erotic, but now were nothing but soft and timid, and full of cherished love and experience. Bin ran a finger over the angles of Dongmin’s face, eyes full of tears – but this time, the tears were ones of happiness, of bittersweet relief. Tears that, later, they both shed – sharing the beauty and the pain and the knowledge that this thing they had, this love they caved into, was tarnished and beyond repair, but it was quirky and beautiful and unique just the same. It was _theirs._  

At the same moment outside, the humidity broke and the clouds cleared. The monsoon rains were finished.

 

Dongmin would realise it days later.

Bin would be pressing a soft kiss to the side of his face, on the pillow of his cheek, before heading inside to his class. And that afternoon, the red swell wouldn’t have left his face, and when he’d see MJ and Sanha leaning against his locker waiting for him like always, that same very swell would drift to his heart, too. It was all a big blur, an almighty rush in both his ears and his eyes, and heard both boys stutter as he crashed into them, arms wrapping tightly around their shoulders. These were his best friends. These were the boys who unintentionally saved him, opened his eyes and allowed him to really _see_ for the first time in his life.

But that was the thing.

Right there – _time_.

The thing was that Dongmin had never really seen the importance of it. Thought it to be a figurative thing, an experiment of the human mind. Something created to terrify people into thinking they had to make themselves seem important, or of value. And Dongmin didn’t really know what had made him realise it; but _maybe_ , just maybe, the thing hadn’t been about Moon Bin at all. Maybe it had been about him the entire time. Maybe, with the tinkering of everyone else around him, Dongmin had been able to sense the importance of his own life, had been able to _realise_ it. Had been able to see that no matter how fickle time may actually be, time was a thing that existed, life was a thing that was going to happen.

The thing about Moon Bin was that he made Dongmin want to live it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i ma aoso sos so sorry the ending si so shit but i didn tknow how to end it bye  
> come say helloe at [softsocky](http://softsocky.tumblr.com/)  
> also dont stress lmao mj's story will be finished!!!!! in a sequel


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